Nossena
by Manuuk7
Summary: Nossena has reached out to join the United Federation of Planets and Enterprise was sent out to kick the tires. The talks are positive and the landing party is shown around the place. Travis misses a step and pushes T'Pol who touches the Idol. That is a crime punishable by death.
1. Arrival on Nossena

_Author's Notes: Another short story that wanted out. I will finish Meet Me at Siva-Llebpmac, no worries._

_In the meantime, the characters are not mine and belong to etc..._

* * *

xxx

"**Captains log - Following a positive first contact with the Nossessini, we have arrived at Nossena to initiate talks about their joining the Federation. Due to the important planetary deposits of sphygarium we're taking a shuttle to the surface." **

Archer paused, wondering if he should add something about sphygarium. You'd think everyone in Starfleet already knew about the unstable compound and its deleterious effects on anything having to do with measuring distances. On the other hand...

He pressed the intercom again, **"Sphygarium's unique ability to prevent accurate measurements makes it a compound of great interest in the development of defensive capabilities."** No need to say more. Then they'd have a fighting chance against the Romulans or the Klingons or anyone out there who decided to make their lunch out of Earth and the Human race.

**"Commander T'Pol, Ensign Travis Mayweather and Specialist First Class Joe Pierre are with me. Commander Tucker will be the Acting Captain in my absence. Archer out."**

* * *

xxx

"Remember to be on your best behavior, everyone," Archer called out to the landing party as they assembled in the shuttle bay. Not that he needed to say it but he couldn't help himself.

T'Pol had been on enough first contacts that there was nothing to worry about and Pierre was savvy enough to know to just shut up and watch. And Travis was aspiring to a captaincy of his own some day and he needed to learn about the intricacies of diplomacy. Archer knew of no better teacher for that than yours truly.

"No quadrupeds allowed," quipped Trip in response. Nobody'd forgotten Archer's ill-advised decision to take Porthos with them, early in the mission.

Archer shot him a dark look. The engineer was not yet Acting Captain and even then that didn't mean he could.make fun of his captain "You're out of line, Commander," he warned. From the corner of his eye he saw T'Pol lower a raised eyebrow. He grew suspicious that she had something to do with Trip's comment. Perhaps she was the instigator.

"Don't you have a ship to take care of?" he pointedly added. There was no reason for Trip to be in the shuttle bay, other than a certain alien Commander standing next to him.

"Acting Captain Tucker is here to wish the landing party well," came the almost instantaneous reply.

Archer huffed. Trip was a quick wit. Fine. Let him have his fun, he had other things he needed to focus on. He mentally reviewed the notes that the Counsellor of Nossena, something similar to of an ambassador if he understood correctly, had sent him.

He was like a teenager on the eve of a prom, all nervous energy. Soon they would be landing on Nossena, seeing to one of his dreams, establishing diplomatic relationships with another species.

Archer smiled. He could hardly wait until they came back to Enterprise, a new planetary agreement in his back pocket.

* * *

xxx

The shuttle landed on the private pad of the High Chamber building, oriented so that the Federation party could come in and go without being seen. The visit was a closely guarded secret. If for any reason the talks didn't succeed, nobody would be the wiser, only selected researchers would find out about it in privileged material at some later point.

The Counsellor was waiting on the pad with a small retinue. Ssalutations were exchanged, everyone stiff in their dress uniform or ceremonial garb. Archer took in the features of the landing pad, the defensive border along its perimeter. This was definitely a highly technical civilization. They had warp capabilities as well or they would never have run into each other. Things were already looking good.

They were brought into an ornate meeting room devoid of all furniture except for beautifully carved chests along the walls. Protocol demanded that they wait for the Exalted Leader to join them before starting to talk in earnest. They proceeded with small talk and veiled allusions to a possible collaboration that pushed the protocol envelope but didn't break it.

The Exalted Leader showed up twenty minutes later with a handful of his most important dignitaries and the talks started in earnest, everyone standing so as to avoid any issues of hierarchy. They talked in broad terms and at length about the possibility of Nossena joining the Federation, about their respective expectations, about the level of readiness of the Nossesseni. These were still budding openings, each side careful not to reveal or promise too much, the Counsellor strategically located in the middle to facilitate the back and forth.

At some point there was nothing else that could be said without committing to a course of action and the mix of niceties and technical semi-revelations came to an end. Everything had gone swimmingly well, both sides were in unspoken agreement that there was a match, the technocrats in the Federation and on Nossena could start arguing the finer points of an entente.

Archer had a slight headache from the strain of volleying the soft balls that T'Pol lobbed at him when she answered the more technical questions. She didn't seem tired at all but Archer knew that didn't mean anything. He would have liked nothing better than to abscond back to the ship, debrief, write a report to Starfleet that included T'Pol's analysis and findings, and retreat to his quarters, not necessarily in that order.

But the Counsellor and his team had other ideas. They had a whole tour planned, wanting to show off the finer features of Nessona, especially the many architectural and aesthetic wonders of the capital, and the Enterprise party found itself shuttled from site to site, ooh-ing and aah-ing appreciatively as needed, except for T'Pol though her eyebrows were getting quite the workout.

Finally, the Counsellor turned to Archer, "Before you leave, we must go to the Holier of Hollies, to give praise and thanks to the Idol." Archer glanced at T'Pol questioningly, unsure the UT had accurately translated but she confirmed with the briefest nod that the UT was indeed working correctly. Archer surpressed a groan, mentally computing how many more minutes this would take.

* * *

xxx

The Holier of Hollies was dark and quiet, in marked contrast to the outside bustle and light. Archer noticed the four doors located at the center of each wall, showing as a bright rectangle of light with two figures inside. Guards. Two on the outside and two on the inside. And each with weapons drawn. The place was guarded like the jewels of the crowm.

He followed the Counsellor's lead, walking softly and silently deeeper inside the building with the greatest care. The silence was total. He could hardly see, in spite of the rectangles of light from the doors. The Counsellor was walking slowly, as if approaching something much ferocious and feared. His aides were following a few steps behind. Archer zeroed in on the lighter rectangle of the Counsellor's cape, trying to keep somewhat abreast. His team filtered in the back. He wondered how T'Pol was faring, Vulcans' night vision being terrible and all. But she was a seasoned veteran and she'd adapt.

The shadows grew even denser and it was a struggle to keep up with the Counsellor. They must be close to the center of the building. The Counsellor stepped through a doorway and Archer followed. Suddenly the floor gave way under his feet. He almost lost his balance, stepping down on the sunken ground with a resounding noise. He hadn't seen the step in the dark.

The Counsellor froze. The sound reverberated in the small room, echoing down the walls. When it stopped, the Counsellor started moving again. Archer's eyes were adjusting and he could make out the outline of what seemed to be a pole in the middle of the room. The Counsellor walked over to the pole and bent at the waist, talking under his breath. Archer waited silently behind him, hands behind his back, looking around. He could see more and more of the space. The Counsellor's aides filed into the room. The rest of the landing party would be next. He could only hope nobody missed the step like he did.

The Counsellor was folded in an impossible position, still talking to the Idol. In turn, his aides bent at the waist in silent supplication. T'Pol's stepped lightly in to the left of Archer. She must have known about the step from the noise, there was no way a Vulcan could see in that kind of dark. She kept walking in the direction of the pole and Archer worried she didn't see it. He was about to go over and stop her when she stopped within a couple of feet of the pole. Perhaps she'd heard her breath echo against it. Vulcan hearing was something else entirely.

Pierre stepped through next, also managing the step down without a hitch. Archer thought he hadn't seen Travis just as he heard the hurried step of the young man. He must have lagged behind, always curious to see everything.

Archer couldn't precisely see what happened next. There was a muffled curse and a commotion.

And then all hell broke loose.

* * *

xxx

Travis had taken the sweep position, allowing his eyes time to adjust and him time to take in everything around. The all-encompassing darkness finally yielded, letting him make out elaborate carvings runing the full length and width of the building. The scenes were alien, indescribable. He was awe-struck at the scale and beauty of the decorations, slack-jawed as he turned slowly around to catch it all.

He realized that he was the only one left and looked up just in time to see Pierre duck through a doorway in the darkest part of the room. He rushed to catch up, entering the room briskly on Pierre's tail.

He couldn't see anything in the even deeper darkness and missed the step-down. Hos imletus carried him forward and he would have gone sprawling but for something soft and yielding that stopped hos forward motion and allowed him to regain his balance.

The something soft and yielding was T'Pol. Travis was much taller than the Vulcan and she was abruptly shoved forward without warning, catching herself on the pole in the center of the room. Something on top wobbled but didn't fall.

* * *

xxx

All hell broke loose. Or from a Vulcan perspective, pandemonium erupted.

The Counsellor and his aides started shrieking, it was hard to tell which was letting out the shrillest calls. The aides were beating their chests, a couple of them crying, the rest wailing.

The sound of running steps preceded the guards into the close space, weapons drawn and aimed at the Enterprise party. T'Pol was separated from the group, her arms forcefully twisted behind her back until she bent to accommodate the pressure. Handcuffs appeared, were slapped on her, and she was carted out of the room by a squadron of armed guards.

The remaining guards herded the landing party out, roughly shoving them with the flat of their weapons, forming a line behind them that couldn't be breached. They found themselves back outside, blinking in the light. The guards lowered their weapons and went back to their posts at the entrances to the Holier of Hollies.

Archer decided to keep a tight grip on his temper. At least until they brought T'Pol back. He whirled on the Counsellor, "What in heavens was that?! I want my Commander back!"

The Counsellor was somber, his face closed. His aides were wiping their faces from any remaining tears, looking dejected. He shook his head, still pale from the incident. "It cannot be done, Captain." He was visibly making an effort to regain his composure, "Your officer is guilty of the highest crime under Nossenean law." Then realizing he needed to explain, "She laid a hand of the Idol."

"It was an accident!" Archer snapped back, "and she didn't touch the Idol, only the pole holding it!"

The Counsellor shook his head, "The integrity of the Idol was compromised. Her fault must be expiated." He took a tremulous breath, "Our laws are strict, but I know you are aliens and do not know our culture. And that it was not intentional." He took another deeper breath, "Nossena wants to join the Federation and we must expect there will be other instances where aliens will run afoul of our culture. I will talk to the Exalted Leader, but the High Chamber will have to make the decision."

"The decision? There's no decision to be made, she's got to be released. End of story!" Archer snapped.

The Counsellor eyed him with an expression akin to grief, "You do not understand, Captain. Under our laws her crime is punishable by death."


	2. Chapter 2 The Aftermath

xxx

_**Enterprise**_

"What do you mean a death sentence?!" Trip's voice was up an octave.

Archer sighed inwardly. As if it wasn't bad enough he came back to Enterprise without an agreement and without T'Pol. Now he had to deal with a very irate Chief Engineer. "It's now a political issue, Trip," he tried to explain. "Of course, they can't really do it, or they can kiss joining the Federation goodbye. The Counsellor has to figure a way that satisfies all constituencies - their law, their leader, the Federation..." That's what the Counsellor had told him, once they were back alone, without the static of aides or other horrified dignitaries.

"And what do we do in the meantime, just sit here and wait?! And Starfleet's okay with that?!" As the meaning of what he'd said struck him, Trip eyed him through narrowed eyes, "How long is this gonna take anyway? We ARE waiting here until this gets settled, right? - Right?!" he repeated, when Archer didn't reply right away.

"Of course we are. The whole thing's only going to take a matter of days." Archer didn't feel the assurance he showed. "It'll all be all right," he added, as much to himself as to Trip.

Fortunately the engineer had his thoughts on something else and missed the mechanical quality of the reassurance. "I want to I see her," he said.

"And you will, as soon as I do. Right now I'm dealing with the fact Nossena doesn't have a concept of due process. They're going to learn about it quickly, if only because Starfleet'll want to know she's well taken care of."

"What do you mean Starfleet'll want to know?!" Trip snapped. "What about us?! want to see her now?!" his voice was still raised.

That deepened the scowl on the Captain's face. "Trip," Archer shook his head, "You can shout and demand all you want but that's not going to have much effect." He knew for having already tried. "You have to give it time. This is a new culture. We're both trying to accommodate each other. The Counsellor is hopeful tempers will abate tomorrow, he can present the request. In the meantime I'm talking to Starfleet. A two-prong approach."

"That's not —"

The doorbell chimed. Archer was secretly glad for the reprieve. "Come in!" he said forcefully over Trip's budding argument.

A visibly nervous Travis walked in, ashen-faced. Archer turned to Trip, "If you'll excuse us." His tone brooked no disagreement.

Trip could feel the tension in the room. He didn't know what was going on but he knew to make himself scarce. He nodded encouragingly at the younger man as he left.

Archer watched him go. Trip had been holed up with him since they came back, didn't know about Travis' role in the incident. Archer had kept things to the minimum necessary. The scuttlebutt would soon inform the chief engineer that it was Travis who had caused the whole mess. Predictably, he wouldn't be so quick to comfort the young man next time.

Once the door closed, he whirled on the ensign standing stiffly at attention. "Explain yourself, Ensign!" he ordered, in an ominous tone.

"Sir, I'm sorry Captain, it was an accident."

"I certainly hope it was an accident!" Archer barked in response. "But there are accidents that happen for nobody's fault and there are accidents that are the result of negligence. And that one was because of your negligence! Do you agree, Ensign?!" It was Archer's turn to raise his voice.

"Sir, I didn't mean to... I didn't see... I agree, Sir!" Travis was swiftly processing through his answers.

"What the hell do you think that was?!" Archer was roaring. "A sightseeing tour?! A vacation where you can rush to catch up with your group?! Perhaps it escaped you but we were on an ambassadorial mission, Ensign! Your duty was to be mindful of your surroundings at all times!" Archer exhaled, grabbed a padd from his desk, "I'm putting you in for dereliction of duty."

"Understood, Sir... I'm sorry." Travis's Adam's apple was working furiously.

"Sorry won't bring back Commander T'Pol! You realize she's on death row, do you?!" Archer snapped back, "Thanks to you!"

"Sir, I know sir, I'm sorry. I'll gladly trade places with the Commander," the young man blurted out, "it hall happened because of me."

"Don't tempt me, son," Archer growled back. "Not that it would help much, she was the one who touched the idol stand. For the Nossesseni that's all the counts. I don't know if you believe in any deity, Ensign, but if I were you I'd start praying the Commander gets out of this mess in one piece."

"I -"

Archer shook his head sternly once to let the ensign know not to interrupt him. "Now we have a diplomatic crisis on our hands. And so does the Nossesseni! Starfleet's involved, the Federation's involved, lord only knows if anyone's told Vulcan yet." Travis swallowed visibly at that. "All of this because you lost track of the mission."

"I know, Sir."

Archer shook his head again, "Let's hope the Commander is released promptly. In the meantime, you're confined to quarters."

"Yes, Sir!" Travis straightened up slightly.

Archer watched the door close on the Ensign's back. Of course, he was happy to be confined to quarters, safely tucked away from the rumor mill. And from a certain Chief Engineer's hands.

Perhaps he should force him on the bridge instead, let him face the music. But he'd already put a black mark on his record, he didn't want to destroy the man.

* * *

xxx

_**Nossena**_

"Apologies, Captain, but you alone can meet with Commander T'Pol. We are already circumventing our legal process to allow you the opportunity. This has never been done before and has been granted only out of deference to our common objectives. You must come alone."

Archer's eyes grew hard, a fact which was lost on the Counsellor through the vidscreen. He forced a smile. "You are aware that our laws require that due process be followed. As Captain, it is my duty to validate the equitable treatment of any crew member who runs afoul of local law. I can only do that if I can meet with them in person, free of any interference. Having a witness there would protect both our interests."

"I could be your witness." the Counsellor quickly offered.

Archer smiled again, "No offense intended, but you understand that it must be someone not associated with the aggrieved party. And someone who wasn't there at the time of the incident, whose point of view is unaltered," he hastened to add.

It was the Counsellor's turn to frown. "I'm sorry, Captain. It's already a political challenge to have you meet with the Commander. As I said, there is no equivalent under Nossenean law. Criminals have no right to any such privileges. They are to be judged quickly and privately. We can make an exception for you only because you're her captain. Having another intervenant would make a mockery out of our legal process."

There was a lull in the conversation. Suddenly Archer had a stroke of genius. "Starfleet regulation forbids the captain of a ship from leaving alone, for security reasons," he paid a private note of thanks to T'Pol, "I must be accompanied." [_**First Flight**]_

The Counsellor narrowed his eyes at him. Archer knew what he was thinking. If that was the case, the simplest solution was for him not to come, then. He could almost see the gears turning as the Counsellor realized that that would be an impossibility. Finally the man relented. "You can have someone with you as protection, if you wish. But you alone are allowed to meet with the prisoner."

"Very well," Archer nodded, "When can I meet with her?"

He hardly listened as the Counsellor went on about the usual administrative obstacles that would delay things, only to frown at the end. "Commander T'Pol has already been held prisoner for over twenty-four hours. I am not waiting another two days." Finally they agreed on a time and date. "We'll be there," Archer announced as he cut off the communication. He looked up at Trip, who had been listening to the whole exchange from behind the vidscreen. "I'd rather it be sooner but... At least you'll get to see her."

Trip was scowling, "Are you sure? It doesn't sound like it..."

"Once you're there, I'll argue your protection is useless unless you're in the room with me."

Trip nodded absent-mindedly. "What's Starfleet doing?" he asked.

That was a rhetorical question if ever Archer'd heard one. "They're working behind the scene," he replied, "Talking directly with the Exalted Leader. Once they agree on a course of action, they'll let the Counsellor negotiate the details. I'd like it to be done before we see her, but I wouldn't hold my hopes up."

"Perhaps we'll be surprised." Trip didn't really believe it.

* * *

xxx

_**Enterprise**_

"What are you doing here?" Travis's face expressed his surprise.

"Nice way to say hello to a friend. Are you going to let me come in?" Hoshi retorted. Travis took a step backward and she took a step forward in his quarters.

"I'm confined to quarters! You can't be there!" he whispered.

Hoshi looked at him with amusement. Did he really think he needed to whisper? "You forget I have the ins with the head of security," she said in a normal tone of voice. What she didn't say was that Phlox had delegated her, with Malcolm's knowledge and the Captain's consent, to make sure the young ensign was holding up under pressure.

Which said ensign was currently sitting dejectedly on his couch, hands hanging between his knees, shoulders rounded over his legs. "I really screwed up," he wasn't looking at her.

Hoshi shrugged. "Listen, everyone really screws up at some point or another. If you're lucky, nothing bad happens, you pick up and you go on. You were unlucky, but it could be worse." She bit her lip as soon as she said it. That was the one thing she wasn't supposed to bring up.

"Yeah, I could get one of the top commanders in Starfleet, the only Vulcan serving on a ship with Humans, a living legend, killed."

"It looks like she won't be executed," Hoshi quickly replied, with the authority of her position as communications officer. If anyone on the ship knew, she did.

Travis looked up at that, "She's coming back?"

Hoshi found herself wishing she hadn't gone there either. "Well, I don't know for sure," she hedged, "there's a lot of back and forth, nothing I can talk to you about."

"So the jury's out as to how bad I messed up," Travis smirked.

Silence settled on the room. Hoshi felt she would have insulted his intelligence by pretending it wasn't true.

Travis laughed softly. "I'm not sure which I should be more worried about, Vulcan or Trip."

Hoshi chuckled at the thought. Dark humor was humor, at least Travis still had a sense of the funny. "You could always go back to Nossena and touch the idol," she suggested.

Travis gave a hollow laugh, "Like they'll let us. They're never going to allow an alien in their sacred idol enclave anymore!"

Hoshi needed to turn his thoughts in a different direction. "It will be fine. I'm sure Captain Archer will call you back to the bridge as soon..." She didn't finish. 'As soon as you're safe from Trip' what was she thought.

Travis got it anyway. That made him laugh. "Well, at least I don't have to worry about ever making captain," he said.

"You think having a black mark on your record will prevent Archer from pushing for your promotion?" Hoshi laughed softly, "Think again."

"Well, I was hoping..." Travis replied.

That stopped Hoshi. "You don't want to make captain?!" For some reason, she'd always assumed that was his career goal.

Travis shook his head. "No, I'd much rather stay where I am, piloting a ship. Enterprise, if possible."

"But I thought..." she started, then stopped. She wasn't sure what she thought anymore.

This time it was Travis who got what she was thinking. "I'm being trained for it, yes, but I've told Captain Archer I'm not interested. He said it was too early for me to make a decision like that and to give it time while I learned everything about it. So..." He didn't have to finish. It was typical of Archer.

"You could always tell him again," Hoshi said. Her voice trailed as she thought about it. After all, the training wasn't hurting anyone and it was beneficial to Travis. "I guess it doesn't hurt anyone..." Her voice trailed again. Except for the current situation. Perhaps Travis wouldn't have to worry about being groomed for the captaincy anymore. At least not for a while. Until Archer and everyone else forgot about the incident. She sighed, sitting on the bunk next to him. "I guess it's okay, everything considered," she said.

Travis looked at her, nodding. "Yes, that's what I thought, too. It might be a moot point."


	3. Chapter 3 The Verdict

xxx

**_Nossena_**

"How are you doing?"

"I have been here for fifty-two hours forty-eight minutes and sixteen seconds," came the reply. Her tone was short. Archer winced. She was in a Vulcan tizzy's. She wouldn't be too happy to hear what he had to tell her.

A discreet throat clearing behind him made him almost turn around and glare at Trip, who was posted by the door. It had taken a fair amount of cajoling to have him in the room, under the pretext he was there for security. He must stay quiet. The Nossesseni had reluctantly agreed to the meeting and would seize any opportunity to cancel it. Good thing for T'Pol, she hadn't batted an eyelid when she saw Trip there. It actually looked like she didn't even look at him. Not once.

In the meantime, he didn't need his chief engineer's reminder, he remembered what Dr. Phlox had said. "How are the conditions of your detention?" he asked.

T'Pol blinked. She gathered her thoughts before answering, "The food is adequately nutritious and vegetal in origin though devoid of taste, hygienic conditions are minimal but acceptable, I seem to be in what is referred to as a 'holding block'. There have been as few as seventeen occupants and as many as forty-three since I have been confined. There are daily departures and arrivals, but processing does not seem to correlate with length of holding."

"What about meditation?" That's what Phlox was concerned about.

She raised an eyebrow in understanding. "Conditions for meditations are suboptimal. I have not been able to meditate for the required periods."

Archer nodded, "I'll ask if you can be alone in a cell."

"If I can be alone in a cell?!" she repeated with a lilt in her voice.

That told him she needed to meditate. No wonder she was a little testy. It wouldn't make what he had to say any easier. Archer understood the underlying question, though. He'd made it obvious she wasn't being released right away. He might as well get on with it. "Well," he started, "Starfleet and Nossena have been in talks the entire time, trying to find a solution to your predicament-"

"A solution?!" she interrupted. Of course, the only solution she saw was to release her. Obviously, she didn't realize the full extent of her predicament. Perhaps nobody'd told her.

"Has anyone talked to you?" he asked.

"I haven't seen anyone, in an official capacity or otherwise."

"I see." It fit the Counsellor's proclamation that criminals were judged swiftly and privately. He felt the need to get up and pace, restrained himself, exhaled. "Listen...," there really was no good way to say it, "there's really no good way to say this, ...what happened, you touching the idol, even of it wasn't your fault, ...it's punishable by death."

"By death?" That had gotten her attention.

"From what I understand, it's so that you can join the idol in eternity and then the sacred circle is not broken. Or something like that." The Counsellor had explained it but Archer wasn't paying much attention, who could blame him.

"Are you saying that I am under a death sentence?" There was an ever so subtle movement of her eyes and Archer realized she'd looked at Trip.

"Well, it's not quite like that," he started. As he said it, it hit him that it was exactly like that. "Yes," he agreed.

T'Pol's eyes grew wide. Archer realized he wouldn't have noticed when she first came on board. He was starting to be able to read her. "Starfleet won't let that happen," he hastened to add. "We're trying to find a solution. I've been on talks for hours with the Counsellor and Admiral Martin." Why was it that he sounded like he was justifying himself? Possibly because the other shoe had yet to drop.

"Does Vulcan know?" she asked.

Archer twitched. Cound on her to go straight for the jugular. "I wish I could tell you so but I don't know what Vulcan does or doesn't know." That gave him an opening, "I'm sure they'll be informed if the Federation comes to an agreement - when. When the Federation comes to an agreement."

That arose her suspicion, "What is the agreement being negotiated?"

"Well, with Nossena wanting to join the Federation and you being under a death sentence, obviously there's an issue-," Archer started.

"Obviously," the tone was curt. "What is the agreement?"

Archer was very conscious of Trip's eyes boring holes into the back of his head. What he was going to say would be news for the engineer as well. He cleared his throat, aware that wasn't going to go over very well, "...they're asking for your sentence to be commuted -"

"Commuted?!" The exclamation came from behind him. Archer didn't turn around. He just hoped Trip managed to control himself. An outburst like that could get them thrown out of the room so fast their heads would spin.

"Commuted?" she echoed.

"Commuted," he repeated. He took a deep breath, "It's unlikely you'll be released right away. I wish I could tell you what's the deal but I've been stonewalled," his tone was apologetic. "Something to do with my reaction when they first told me of it."

"What do you mean commuted?!" Trip's angry whisper reached all the way to them. Archer managed to keep from turning around, trying to make it seem as if nothing took place. He doubted it would work. Now they would be kicked out for sure. He needed to finish quickly.

"Let's stay positive," he replied. "Even the Nossesseni don't really want to see the law applied. It's just that they don't have a way to do that."

T'Pol was looking at him as if from far away. "Political objectives tend to overcome any consideration of a single individual."

Archer frowned, "The good of the many and all is not how I want this to play out. I need you on Enterprise and I'll get you back there!"

T'Pol blinked slowly, "I appreciate your efforts, Captain."

He could tell she didn't make much of his chances of success. A rasp at the glass door let them know the guards were coming.

"So hang in there," he saw the shocked eyebrow, realized the choice of words was poor. "It's a Human expression," he hurried to add, "just means be patient." Now the other eyebrow joined the first in a huff. "Which you already are," gosh this conversation was a minefield.

Guards walked in. Archer got up, "We'll be back,"

He hoped he was right.

* * *

xxx

_**Enterprise**_

Archer slammed the connection shut harder than he had to. It should have been a no-brainer. Release T'Pol, and everything neatly fell into place. Admiral Martin agreed.

But. There was always a but.

But Nossena didn't want to look like they were caving to a larger Federation, matter of pride, and the Federation wanted to proceed, how had Martin phased it, "with all the tact required by a delicate situation." Whatever that meant.

At least Vulcan was involved. He didn't quite trust the Federation to not throw T'Pol under the bus. And from the look of things, rather than smack everyone upside the head and tell them to act as adults, the powers-that-be were going to settle on some kind of compromise that saved everyone's ego and looked good on paper.

Except that it was not good for T'Pol. And not good for Enterprise. Nobody could be a pain in the ass the way he would have been. The Counsellor and he would've found a way to sweep the all thing under the rug, make pretend it didn't happen or that the perpetrators were duly punished.

To him she was one in a million. To them she was one among many millions.

* * *

xxx

_**Nossena**_

T'Pol wasn't sure where the guards were taking her. They were only two and the most logical hypothesis was that this was ordinary prison business, not that they were taking her for execution. Archer had talked about her sentence being commuted but she knew that was the best case scenario. She wouldn't be the first political sacrifice ever.

She hadn't known she was on death row until Captain Archer and Trip came to see her. Seeing Trip had been both helpful and difficult. She wanted nothing more than to talk to him. Her T'hyla. But there had been no opportunity to communicate, all she could do was look at him without seeming to, for fear they would take him away. And even if her sentence was commuted, she had to worry that the negotiated timeframe would extend beyond a Human's life expectancy.

Her thoughts were brought back to the present as the guards opened a steel door and led her inside a single-bunk cell. So Captain Archer had arranged for her to be alone. The thought was comforting, as was the fact she would finally be able to meditate without the barrage of alien sounds and smells, or the weight of their minds pressing against her shields. She relaxed her stance and turned to the guards, waiting for them to take off the shackles that bound her hands to her waist.

But they didn't move. "So you're special, eh? You need a cell of your own, do you?" One of the guards snarled at her.

She decided it was prudent not to answer. It sounded like what Humans called a rhetorical question. She had learned from her time on Enterprise that not all questions were meant to be answered.

"What do you have to say for yourself?! Answer!" The second guard barked in her face.

Perhaps she had been wrong. Perhaps they did want answers.

"I am a Starfleet officer" she replied. That seemed appropriate.

The second guard sneered and she looked up to see him don a thick black rubber glove. Behind him the first guard was flexing and unflexing his gloved fingers, testing for flexibility.

All at once she knew what was going to happen. She slammed her shields shut so it wouldn't filter to Trip. She needed a couple of minutes to retreat into her mind, disconnect from the pain that was about to descend on her.

She had made sizable progress when the first blow struck.

* * *

xxx

_**Enterprise**_

Trip had been sleeping fitfully. The sudden absence of the bond registered in a corner of his mind, brought him awake. T'Pol was blocking the bond. Something was happening. He punched the pillow in frustration.

He called for the light, looking around for some clothes. He needed to alert Archer. Starfleet was supposed to negotiate on her behalf, did something happen? A cold wave of fear clenched his heart. Perhaps the Nossesseni had never intended to negotiate. It wouldn't be the first time an alien civilization proved untrustworthy. What did they know about them, really?

He was stepping out of his cabin, pulling on the string of his sweat pants, when he felt the hum of the bond back. A wave of relief washed over him. He checked the clock. Eight minutes. Perhaps double that counting the time before he woke up.

He hesitated on the threshold of his cabin, one foot in and one foot out. Even if he woke Archer, there was nothing they could do right away. Call the Counsellor and ask him to check. That'd take time. They couldn't go down tomorrow and see her either. They'd been barred from visiting until the Federation and Nossena came to an agreement. And check on what? It didn't mean something's happened, there were so many possible reasons for her to block the bond. If she was back, things must be back to normal. He hoped.

Going back to sleep was out of the question. He turned towards Sickbay. Phlox would be up, it was not a hibernation period. He could see what the doctor thought. Perhaps they'd allowed him to see her, if it turned out she was sick.

* * *

xxx

_**Nossena**_

The mechanical clangs sounded ominous, reverberating down the corridor as they came closer.

T'Pol sat up on the bed, wondering if they came for her. This time it sounded like an execution detail. She had no news about how the talks were proceeding, Captain Archer hadn't come back. It could be because the Nossesseni wanted to hide the traves of the beating, visible on her face. It could be that the negotiations had failed. There were too many unknown variables to calculate probabilities for different scenarios. Whatever would happen would happen. _Kaiidth_

The door opened on a squad of guards, tightly pressed in the doorframe, spilling out into her cell. They walked over and put heavy restraints on her. She remained stoic as they pressed on tender bruises. Next she was walking down an endless corridor, surrounded by guards. At the end they turned left in another endless corridor. A couple more turns and more corridors, and she recognized the Counsellor waiting in front of a double door.

He greeted her with a nod before looking up at the head guard, "What happened?!"

The guard shrugged, "The others in the block didn't like her much." She glared at him but didn't say a word. "You could always say she resisted arrest," the man offered helpfully.

"Fine, fine," the Counsellor had other things on his mind. The guards fell back and he ushered her through the double doors.

She found herself in a vast ceremonial chamber with a half-dozen Nossesseni seated in a semi-circle at the head. She recognized the trappings of a court of some sort. A quick glance around the room revealed Captain Archer was not there. Nobody from Starfleet or the Federation either. There were no witnesses.

The Nosseni in the center got up, clearing his throat. "Alien T'Pol of Vulcan," his voice was unpleasantly nasal, "we are brought here in consideration of your grave crime." He nodded at the Nossesseni around him, "We have balanced your ignorance of our laws and our decision to open Nossena to other worlds against your infringement of our most sacred law, an action that can only be punishable by death. It is the opinion of this august body and of our highest religious experts that an alien, not being part of the Nossenean cycle of life, cannot compromise the integrity of the Idol and your death is not required. Still, our laws must be respected for fear civilization itself will turn to chaos." Several Nossesseni nodded their agreement. The man went on, "You were as an infant who grabs at a candle, her mind unformed and uninformed. So as the infant feels the burn of the flame, you too must feel the pain of your violation. The Idol does not burn and it impugns to our laws to manifest that pain. This body therefore condemns you to six months forced labor in our sphygarium mines, starting immediately."

His speech was greeted with forceful nods on all sides. The Nosseni turned to the Counsellor, "Proceed."

The Counsellor called to the door, "Guards, take her away!" He turned to her, "Your ship will be back here in six months to pick you up."

For the first time she spoke. Her voice sounded rough to her ears and she realized she hadn't spoken in a long time. "Does Captain Archer know?"

The Counsellor nodded, "He's being informed as we speak." The guards were already escorting her out, there was no time to say anything else. She had to believe he spoke the truth.

xxx


	4. Chapter 4 The Message

xxx

_**Enterprise**_

"How come nobody fucking saw fit to inform me?!" Archer was fit to be tied, his face flushed, a vein on his forehead pulsating dangerously.

Admiral Martin realized perhaps he should have included the captain earlier in the negotiations. But that was hard to do when Archer was stubborn as a mule where his crew was concerned and mindless of stepping on any alien sensitivities. Archer would have gotten the Commander back, more likely than not, but it might have been a few years before Nossena talked to the Federation again. All in all, this was the best outcome.

Martin took a deep breath, thinking Starfleet Command should have been involved. There should be someone in there that Archer respected. It couldn't by that Admiral Forest was the only one ever the Captain would listen to. He rued the fate that saw fit to appoint him as admiral in charge of alien relationships. Granted he had a rare talent at smoothing over ruffled feathers, but that was alien feathers. And Archer was Human. Human and pissed. Pissed at Martin and the whole of Starfleet.

If Starfleet Command was involved, at least he wouldn't be the one being yelled at. "It all happened very quickly," he tried to explain, modulate his voice into a soothing frequencies that were so effective with aliens, "we were talking, nothing was working and then the Nossesseni had a change of mind."

"A change of mind?!" Archer exlaimed. "You're a freaking idiot! A change of mind would have meant T'Pol was released. That was no change of mind!"

"About capital punishment as being the only way," the admiral decided to press on with his explanation, he had a sense calling the Captain up on his behavior wouldn't work, "but they couldn't go from that to nothing." He took another breath, tried for a different tactic. "You realize capital punishment would usually be equivalent to years in jail, possibly a life sentence. Six months hardly registers."

Perhaps that was not the best approach. Archer narrowed his eyes and Martin felt like he was about strike him through the vidcom. But instead Archer talked in a voice that was almost sweet, "How would you like to spend six months aboard Enterprise, exploring space, with one less senior officer and without a Science Officer?" His tone rose during the delivery so that by the end he was nearly shouting.

"I -" Martin started, but Archer didn't let him finish. "What did she say when you told her?" he asked.

Admiral Martin suddenly had the feeling of a yawning abyss opening under his feet. He tried to cover up his confusion but it was too late, Archer'd seen it. "You told her?! Didn't you?! Don't tell me nobody talked to her!" that vein on Archer's forehead was pulsating again.

"There was no time," Martin tried to apologize, "We'd hardly agreed when it was already a done deal. They whisked her away to start her sentence."

"You're telling me that she's doing forced labor somewhere on that planet and nobody told her what was going on?!" Archer was apoplectic.

"The Counsellor told her, we weren't allowed any contact." Martin reminded Archer, glossing over the fact that was thanks to him and his little ploy bringing his chief engineer there as a security man.

He was desperate to assuage the man and pissed to all hell that he'd been put in that situation. It suddenly struck him that as a Starfleet admiral he could make certain decisions. Starfleet Command may not be very happy with him, but then they shouldn't have left him to deal with Archer alone. "We also agreed Enterprise is assigned to the Nossena quadrant for the next six months," he went on, "as part of the negotiations." Starfleet Command be damned. "There's plenty of exploring to do around here, especially since everything will take longer without a science officer. You'll never be more than a few days away."

Archer looked at Martin speechlessly. It was time to switch to the attack, "Do you have a problem with that, Captain?"

"No, sir - Admiral," Archer blinked, thinking at a hundred miles per hour, "We won't be called away from Nossenean space?" He was too familiar with Enterprise going in one direction and then being needed somewhere else entirely.

Martin leaned forward, "Listen, son, in this day and age I'm not sure of anything, including whether the sun will get up. But-," he leaned back, "those are my orders, effective immediately. Since this arrangement is part of the negotiations with Nossena, let's say it will take a modicum of effort - and time - to counter them. Understood?"

Archer certainly understood. At least if he was close to Nossena he could keep working some angle to get T'Pol released. But that was not for Martin to know. "Understood, sir! And thank you."

"No need, Captain. Hope to have the pleasure of meeting you and Commander T'Pol, once this craziness is over. Martin out."

Archer's smile at Martin was forced. He needed to talk to Reed and Trip. There must be something they hadn't thought of yet, some way to spring her. There had to be.

In the meantime, there was something even more important he had to do. He leaned over the intercom, "Hoshi, get me the Counsellor on. Stat!"

* * *

xxx

_**Nossena**_

The Counsellor was in a good mood. The worst had been avoided, the alien would get to live, Nossena would be joining the Federation. It was a good day and for once he was not worried about the next morning. There would be more obstacles, that was a given in his profession. But he always stopped to celebrate the small achievements, it gave him heart to keep going.

So the beep of the official intercom was not a welcome sound in the hard-earned serenity of the evening. He checked the caller, and cursed. If he'd known who the Federation was sending to talk to Nossena about joining, he'd asked for someone else. The man was a giant pain. That whole Commander thing. Other captains would not have put up such a fight, they would have let the diplomats handle the whole thing. But he was a gadfly, unwilling to let go. In the end they'd all agreed on what was essentially a slap on the wrist for fear that anything more would send him into conniptions. Him and his damn communications officer. He didn't really want to hear her voice on the line either.

Having vented internally and steeled himself for the harangue that he was sure to receive, the Counsellor sighed and released the button that would allow the call to come through.

Archer's tone of voice almost shocked him. The man sounded reasonable, his tone was even. The Counsellor was not one to look a gift horse in the mouth. "Captain Archer! What a pleasure!" he gushed. They both knew it wasn't.

The conversation was short, the Counsellor nodding in approval, "Yes, that is a reasonable request," and "yes, I can make sure it gets delivered," and almost as an afterthought, "but you have to make sure it gets to me within the hour".

The Counsellor released the button, paging his secretary. When the man came on, he briefly told him what to expect coming over the transmission system, and what to do with it.

And then he went back to his well-earned rest.

* * *

xxx

**_Sphygarium Mines_**

The shuttle flight had been long, and she couldn't see where they were, but finally they'd landed. From the glimpses she could see as they made the final approach, they were in the center of a huge complex, buildings so tall they dwarfed everything around, including the shuttle. From the lights and the shine of what looked like enormous silos this was a manufacturing facility of some kind. The sphygarium mines, she presumed. The pilot shut off the engine and the guards released her restraints. They exited the shuttle one by one, she still under armed guard. It was night but it might as well have been day. They crossed a steel cobblestone plaza under the glare of dazzling lights and entered what looked like a rounded-top hangar. It was a central hall, another cavernous space, too big for most humanoid activity. Big and empty, their steps echoed endlessly along the smooth metallic walls.

There was the responding echo of several footsteps and a group of Nossesseni appeared, one in front and three trailing not far behind. They joined T'Pol and the guards. The Nossenean in front nodded at the guards, "I'm the Deputy Overseer, we got word of your arrival. So this is the Alien?"

"Straight from the Judgment Hall," one of the guards answered. He handed over a thick stack of padds, "Here is the transcript and final disposition."

The Deputy Overseer quickly flipped through the padds, focusing on the last one,"Six months?"

"Whatever it says there," the guard's tone hinted that was above his pay grade. Or below, it was hard to tell.

"Well, I've seen worse," the deputy handed the padd to the woman next to him. "Get her a uniform and a matriculate number." He turned back to T'Pol, "That matriculate number will be your identity from now on. We don't use names here. My aide will fit you with a uniform."

The aide broke away and T'Pol followed, the guards still escorting her.

* * *

xxx

_**Nossena**_

The Counsellor's secretary had been chosen for being a man that was as fastidious as he was unimaginative. Those were the qualities that kept him glued to his desk as minutes stretched beyond the time when he should have left his post and retired for the evening.

He was rewarded with the chime of an incoming communication. Perhaps it had taken longer than the Counsellor had expected, but then, as he understood what the Counsellor had hinted at, these were parting words from a captain to one of his officers, meant to impart trust and let her know that she was neither being ignored nor forgotten.

Being, by his temperament, often a part of those who were ignored or forgotten, the secretary took great pains to promptly forward the message, along with the virtual disk it came on, to the shuttle. He would have been quite put upon if someone had pointed out that his 'great pains' resulted in checking, double-checking, and triple-checking the address, the pad, the package, the delivery, the time, mindless of the additional minutes that were being added to a task of 'the greatest urgency'. Urgent was urgent but precise was precise, and never could it be said that he had been anything but precise.

So was the communication forwarded to its end point, well beyond the agreed upon timeframe.

* * *

xxx

**_Sphygarium Mines_**

Being fitted with a uniform consisted of being handed a parcel with a bark of, 'Take everything off! You'll get it back when you leave.' It took a couple of minutes only. The uniform was a blindness-inducing yellow, complete with gloves and an opaque helmet-slash-breathing mask that entirely covered her face. She let it hang under her chin, there was no logical reason to wear it. A neon green number flashed on a fabric panel stretched across the front, FF-091-BZV. Her matriculate.

The aide and the guards walked her back to where the Deputy Overseer was still standing, consulting a map on a padd. It looked like a squiggle of lines and wriggles going in all direction, each a different color. There were a few straight green lines here and there. The deputy turned to the aide, "Level AB-411. We need general work capabilities. " He addressed the guards, "We are done here. Thanks for your help." The guards saluted and left, replaced by the two other Nossesseni that had been waiting with the Deputy Overseer. Even though they didn't have visible weapons, these also were clearly guards.

The group walked T'Pol towards the back of the hall, where triple sets of double elevator doors beckoned black against the gray steel. The hall was vast and the Deputy Overseer kept up a steady monologue as they went. "Large space, isn't it? This is the reception hall, we can intake as many as fifteen hundred prisoners at a time. We've had to do so a couple of times only in the history of the mines. But you're the first alien. Not the last one, I figure. Anyway, take a good look around, you won't see it again until your time is up." He paused for a couple of steps before picking up steam again. "The mines are deep underground. We mine over 500 million cubic feet of sphygarium a year. AB-411 is one of the newest lodes, easier to dig out. In six months you hardly have time to learn the ropes."

In the shuttle, the pilot was urgently relaying to the guards the message he'd just received via the Counsellor's office, to be delivered to the alien. The nearest guard grabbed the disk copy the pilot had just engraved and rushed back out of the shuttle, running to catch up with the Deputy Overseer and the alien.

He entered the hall as the Deputy Overseer and the group reached the elevators. He was fifty yards in when the doors opened smoothly and the group filed in. He was a hundred yards in when the Deputy Overseer stabbed a command button. He was still waving the disk aimlessly, shouting to be heard when the doors closed. None of them had seen him run the length of the hall, waving at them. He was too far away for his voice to carry.

The guard stopped in frustration, futilely offering the disk with the message from Captain Archer to T'Pol. Once a prisoner went through those elevator doors, they didn't come back until the end of their sentence. He dejectedly looked at the disk, at the black rectangle of the elevator door. The Counsellor would not care for excuses. His career may well be over.

It struck him that nobody would know otherwise. His life would be much easier if the Counsellor believed the message had been delivered. The alien wouldn't be around to tell them that was not the case for many months.

He thrust the disk deep in his pocket, waited a few minutes. The shuttle pilot and the other guard couldn't see all the way where he was. He would tell them he had caught up with the group, delivered the disk. Made five people happy - the Counsellor, his secretary, the captain, the pilot, the other guard,... and himself. Six. The alien was already not happy, that wouldn't change her circumstances.

Once he'd waited long enough to make it seem plausible he'd met with the group and delivered the message, he turned around and headed back to the shuttle, nodding all the way that everything was fine, the message had been delivered. And received.

As if anyone would ever find out.


	5. Chapter 5 The Sphygarium Mines

Author's Notes: in this universe, it is an accepted fact that Vulcans who cannot meditate slowly become paranoid.

* * *

xxx

_**Sphygarium Mines**_

The elevator went down for twenty minutes long minutes, the pressure painful to T'Pol ears. Finally it glided to a stop and the rear doors opened on a bedlam of activity. Shouts, yells, mechanical noises, a fine yellow dust coating everything and everyone, canary-colored shapes moving in long lines going in opposite directions, open freight elevators gushing out dozens of uniformed inmates at a time, while dozens others pressed themselves to replace them, sign of organized chaos. It all seemed like one gigantic living mass, without any signs of guards or restrictions.

The Deputy Overseer nodded "Good, we arrived in time for the shift change. You'll star working right away." He was craning his neck, trying to locate someone or something in the moving mass. Suddenly he exclaimed, "ah! the lode leader!" and waved the small group to follow him. He cut through the crowd until they reached a Nossenean with a black mask. T'Pol realized upon seeing him that there were black masks among the yellow, which she had mistaken for background shadows. She could now discern the inmates, steadily moving about, from black-masked officials, standing still in the traffic flow.

The deputy briefly talked to the lode leader and left with his aide and the guards. She couldn't tell if the lode leader was looking at her, she couldn't see his face through the mask. "FF-091-BZV, you need your mask on!" he barked at her. "You're going to AB-411 now! The sphygarium is not waiting!"

That matched what the overseer had said but the meaning remained impermeable to the uninitiated. "The sphygarium is a living organism?" T'Pol asked, her scientific curiosity triggered.

The lode leader stood silently in place for several seconds, staring at her. He finally hitched up his sleeve and she noticed the black metallic arm cuff on his forearm. He fiddled with it.

She found herself on her knees, trying to regain her breath. The shock had been unexpected, coming right through the breastplate of her uniform. The lode leader was talking over her head, "I don't need to explain," he said, "You do not get to ask questions of us." He leaned further over her, "That was just a reminder. It will happen every time you challenge authority."

T'Pol would have replied that asking questions was not challenging authority but she knew better and remained silent. The pain from the electric shock was starting to recede.

"But," the lode leader went on, "since you're an alien, I will answer this once. The sphygarium is not inanimate. It grows and we harvest it. End of story. Now get to work!" He pulled her to her feet, maintaining a tight hold on her upper arm. He stopped a man going by, fully clad in canary-yellow, including the mask, "QY-16-THP!"

"Yes!" the man answered.

"She's on Level AB-411. The new lode. Get her there." He shoved T'Pol in the direction of the man and she stumbled before righting herself, pulling the mask on.

* * *

xxx

_**Enterprise**_

Archer was relieved. The message he'd sent to T'Pol had been delivered. Not much, just a few words to explain the negotiations, let her know Enterprise would be hanging right around Nossena, ready to intervene, that he hadn't given up, but for the meantime to stay put and wait.

His step had a renewed bounce as he walked in the command room. Trip and Reed were already there, along with Hoshi. Travis was manning the bridge. He'd put the ensign back on the roster after a couple of days, as soon as it'd looked like they'd negotiate T'Pol out of the death penalty. The ensign was stern, polished, perfect in discharging his duties, and gloomy. That would pass, Archer was certain of it.

Initially, he'd held high hopes that his team would find a way to get T'Pol out, by hook or by crook. But it was getting less and less certain as time went on. They'd been holed up in the command center for three days now, and at some point they would have to break orbit, or Nossena was going to start wondering what was up.

A few minutes later, Reed was once again shaking his head at him, "This is not like when you were prisoner on Rura Penthe. The Klingons are an enemy empire, unlawful, were civilization is measured by deceit and violence. Nossena is a state of right, a Federation ally. We can't screw around with a Federation ally, we're on the same side!"

"We'd end up with a price on our heads," Hishi added. She was not keen to have a price on her head. Not after the Xindi.

Archer frowned. That's not what he wanted to hear. He turned to Trip, "You don't agree with this, do you?" If there was one person who'd want T'Pol released as much as he did, that would be Trip.

Trip sighed, passing a hand through his hair, "Of course I don't agree! There's got to be a way!" His eyes were bloodshot. Everyone knew he wasn't sleeping well, if at all, he could be found at all hours of the night on the observation deck, staring at Nossena. Waiting for T'Pol, everyone assumed.

Malcolm spoke again, "Let's not forget that even if we decide on some heroics to free T'Pol, again this is not Rura Penthe, some far removed asteroid. The sphygarium mines are on Nossena itself. We're talking planetary defenses, reaching someplace deep inside the planet, once we locate the mines. I don't even know how we could get access."

"There's always someone that can be convinced to help, for the right price," Archer replied.

"Yes, and that's going to take close to six months to arrange," Reed countered. He had a sudden thought, "Perhaps that's exactly why they kept it at six months, they knew there would be no opportunity for heroics," he added.

Archer shook his head."I'm not giving up that easily!"

There was a silence as they all wondered what he thought he could do. The Captain was pacing around the ready room. He suddenly turned around, "Remember Shran? The fight? How we found a loophole in their laws? Perhaps there's another legal angle we haven't explored..." He turned to Hoshi, "Get all their textbooks and start searching for something, anything."

Hoshi briefly closed her eyes. This was not something she was looking forward to, but how do you tell your captain he's on a wild goose chase. "Last time I had Travis help me," she said, trying to find a way out.

Archer took two steps to the intercom, "Captain Archer to the bridge."

"Bridge, here," came Travis' rich voice.

"Travis, find a place where Enterprise can anchor for a while, without being visible from Nossena. You and Hoshi have a job to do."

"Sir?"

"Hoshi'll explain. Archer out."

* * *

xxx

_**Sphygarium mines**_

Vulcan didn't have the concept of a hell, but if it had, hell would have been yellow. Yellow and insanely loud.

Yellow like sphygarium, a pollen-like substance that clung to everything it touched, coating the world in a fine layer of sticky amber soot. In spite of the uniforms and masks, it found its way under fingernails and around the hairline where the mask didn't make a complete seal with the uniform, where it itched at leisure. Only sonic showers could get rid of it, and those were rationed to once every three days.

T'Pol made a conscious effort to push the yellow itch out of her mind. She was still seating in a meditation pose, still striving to reach the higher planes Vulcans needed for continued mental balance. The ambient noise made it almost impossible, loud clanging jarring her mind back again and again. No matter what the hour, there was an unceasing profusion of calls, shout, sirens, alarms, sudden burst of joyless noises from shift-workers existing the elevators. The noise was constant, unrelenting, as maddening as the pollen, though in a different fashion.

The buzz of her breastplate let her know this was the beginning of another day. The eighth day. She got up and walked to the door for the morning optical scanning, noting that the stiffness had left her limbs. The first few days had been Frankenstein-like choreographic exercises as her body adjusted from a desk job to manually lifting seventy-five pound weights throughout the day. No matter how much she exercised on the ship, it had been a sedentary existence.

The breastplate would vibrate three times, after which, if she didn't present herself for optical recognition, the electric shocks would start, with increasing intensity. That's what she was told. She had never had to test it out. She was up most of the night trying to meditate and she had no taste for another electric shock. The optical reader flashed her matriculate back at her in a silent signal that her presence had been registered. In a few minutes there would be another breastplate buzz and the doors would open. She and the other hundreds of inmates on Level AB-411 would have thirty minutes to process through the long lines of the food dispensary and be handed a package very much like the emergency rations aboard Enterprise before reporting to their assigned work team. Regular optical scanning along the way helped make sure that everyone was following pace, the laggards quick to be punished with a painful jolt. There would not be another meal until the end of the shift, another twelve hours away.

She adjusted her breathing mask before stepping out. Some inmates wore their masks at all times, remaining ever anonymous, some kept it flung on their chest until they started the long ride down to the lodes. She was wearing her mask at all times, she didn't trust the other inmates not to attack her once they realized she was an alien. A part of her recognized it as a paranoid thought, induced by lack of meditation. She rubbed her temples to chase the stress away. If she could only meditate fully everything would become crystal clear.

If Trip was there, she could meditate. The thought came unbidden.

But Trip was far away, she didn't know where Starfleet would have sent Enterprise next. Trip wasn't there at the verdict. And he didn't contact her afterwards. Captain Archer hadn't been there either, and nobody from Starfleet. There was the possibility that the entire incident had been a set up. It would make sense. Travis bumped into her not because he was in a rush and missed a step but because he had precise orders to do so. They wanted her out of the way. Perhaps they had arranged the whole incident with the Counsellor. Get rid of her without getting anyone on Vulcan upset. Unless Vulcan was also implicated. Nobody from Vulcan had contacted her either. The Counsellor said he told Captain Archer that her sentence had been commuted, but he could have been lying.

A part of her pointed out that this was not the case, that Trip couldn't be part of the conspiracy, the bond would tell her. Her rational mind anchored to this as fact. Trip could be trusted. The lack of meditation was clouding her mind into insecurity and distrust.

She shuddered as she re-established control.

She fell in with the line of breakfast goers, careful to adjust her mask again. One never knew.

* * *

xxx

_**Enterprise**_

Hoshi threw the padd in a corner, where it joined a messy stack of other padds. The mass was growing by the day and still they hadn't found anything at all that could help.

"That was the last one," Travis said glumly.

Hoshi looked up in surprise, "The last one?"

"Yeah... we've gone through every single relevant law on their books. We've been at this a week already!" It had taken them days to sift through all possible regulations, all the while keeping in mind the fight with Shran, and that perhaps there was a line somewhere that would bring T'Pol out of jail.

But no matter how deep they searched or how finely they tried to parse what they found, the end result was the same. Any contact between a Nossenean hand and anything connected to the Idol was a straight line to death. It looked like the Counsellor had already worked out the only angle by having her sentence commuted on account of her being an alien.

Travis slumped inwardly. Since Hoshi'd roped him to help, he'd held high hopes that he would find something, anything, that could help. He would have loved to be the white knight in a shining armor, the one who made things better, not the one who screwed them up. But it seemed that wasn't to be. "So what do we do next?" he asked.

Hoshi looked as dejected as he felt, "We tell Archer, I guess..."

The Captain didn't take too well to his team's admission of defeat, "So that's it? We do nothing? Just wait for six months, twirling around this sector?"

Nobody answered for a while. It was obvious the Captain was unhappy but they couldn't really tell him anything he wanted to hear. Finally, Trip spoke up. He looked like a mess, it was obvious this was as tough on him as it was on T'Pol. "I've been thinking a lot about this, it's killing me to say it, but I think T'Pol would agree. She wouldn't want the negotiations with Nossena derailed over her. The good of the many etc., even if the one is her. It's wouldn't be logical. She's only in for six months, and she knows from your message that we haven't abandoned her." He swallowed visibly, "For the record, I can't believe I'm the one saying that. And it's because I trust Nossena to do right by us. So in short, I think we're taking a big risk," he was also taking the risk T'Pol wouldn't be pleased with which side of the question he landed, "but I don't see another solution. But," he looked up at Archer, "I say we don't go too far away, and come back check every couple of weeks. Make sure she's ok. And then, if we find there's anything iffy, anything, we pull all the stops, Starfleet and the Federation be damned!"

"It may seem like a lot of time but it's only six months," Reed added. Travis nodded in turn, that made sense. Hoshi was also nodding her agreement. Six months may seem like a long time but it wasn't much.

Archer would have kept pressing but his captaincy instinct told him that would be berating them, and he already had a morale issue on board, with T'Pol gone, Travis feeling guilty, and Trip obviously spinning in the wind. Everyone on Enterprise was affected, the general mood was somber. He needed to create a diversion.

He looked over at the team assembled in the command center, all his senior officers except for one, "We have six months to explore this -" .

"- five months and nineteen days," Trip cut in.

Archer nodded, "That's right, five months and nineteen days, that's the time we have left to explore this quadrant of space. Any suggestions?"

It was Trip who answered. Obviously he'd already given some thought to that question also, "Since T'Pol's not there, we could honor her by doing all the scientific research she'd want to do. At least get the data, so she has something to do when she gets back. I'm sure her team will know exactly what she'd want."

Arched waited a couple of beats, "So basically you're asking that I hand the ship over to the geeks?" That drew some chuckles, as he'd hoped. But they were all nodding.

"That's a great idea, Trip!" Hoshi exclaimed.

Archer mentally scored. Hoshi was the resident cheerleader on board. If she was enthusiastic about it, it would spread like wildfire. Morale would pitch back. He had to give it to Trip, that was a brilliant idea. At least make everyone feel like they were doing something for T'Pol.

In a couple of weeks, they'd be back. Even before that, he would raise the question again, have them work anew on a plan. He wasn't going to spend six months idling around. Even if Reed was right, time would go quickly, it had already been well over ten days. He hoped time went as quickly for T'Pol, that the conditions of her imprisonment weren't too harsh. They shouldn't be, with so many having skin in the game. The thought that somehow she would disappear during detention was inconceivable. Nossena had too much at stake.

And at the same time he was aware there was always the unknown.


	6. Chapter 6 The Explosion

xxx

_**Sphygarium Mines**_

She'd been there twenty-one days. The buzz from her breastplate announced the morning of the twenty-second day.

T'Pol roused herself from the half-sleep, half-meditation state she spent her nights in since she discovered that extending the time spent in meditation helped compensate for its low quality. She noted that it took her one point three seconds longer to walk to the optical scanner, a sign that her body needed more rest. But the deficit in sleep was more than made up by the enhanced intellectual clarity.

It was an imperfect solution, but it allowed her to re-balance her mind somewhat at the end of each day, enough to keep the more paranoid thoughts at bay. She still had momentary doubts that the lack of contact from Enterprise, Starfleet or Vulcan was the mark of a conspiracy of which she was the unknowing victim. But these were doubts, not convictions. And she had broken her initial isolation to interact with the other inmates, even if she still kept the breathing mask on at all times.

Fortunately this was the day after the sonic showers and there was no sphygarium left on her skin to itch into madness. She was glad for the temporary respite. She ate the morning ration by herself, raising the mask just enough to take bites. The food was nondescript, tasteless, highly caloric because of the physical work involved. It was logical. The rations were small but they left her sated at the end of the meal. She discarded the wrappings and walked over to Elevator Twelve, where she had been required to assemble, past the black-masked guards posted every ten meters along the way. The composition of the working team changed daily, according to an as yet undeciphered algorithm. Today she was once again assigned to Section ALF-348-E12. They had been digging in Section ALF-348-E12 for a week now.

Once the fifty or so members of the day's team were optically registered they filed silently in the elevator that would bring them down to the lower levels, where the digging happened. The ride took twenty-one minutes and forty-two seconds, two point eight seconds less than the day before. Nobody else noted the discrepancy. As always her ears popped painfully on the way down and she focused on the matriculates of her teammates as a form of relief, memorizing all 50 combinations of letters and numbers. That was child's play for a Vulcan, especially when she'd already seen some of the numbers on previous days.

The team exited the elevator together, pass retinal scanning, and gathered by the lode leader who was waiting for them on site. He would assign tasks, splitting the group between the one or two who'd man the giant extractor and the many who would be in charge of keeping the auger sharp, collecting the freshly extracted ore, and carting it back to the loading stations. All of this was done manually, the sphygarium properties wrecked havoc with all electronic equipment.

Assignments were done without any regard to size or weight, the administration was indifferent to questions of efficiency or safety. T'Pol was one of the two workers selected to change the huge diamond heads on the augers, each weighing about seventy-five pounds. They went dull every two to three hours, depending on the composition of the lode. In-between the heavy lifting and pulling, they would have to clean the diamond heads, package them, and carry them over to maintenance.

The group proceeded further into the mine to start where they'd left off the day before, a half-hour walk along a tunnel of rough-hewn corridors that haphazardly went from several yards wide to a few feet at most. Nobody saw fit to dig further than where the sphygarium was. It mattered little that the work would be made more arduous by trying to squeeze through where the tunnel narrowed.

The digging started, the thumping from the extractors reverberating through the ground, making everyone move in a spastic way to maintain their balance. T'Pol's work companion was AB-011-EFT, someone she had worked with before and who also stubbornly kept her mask on at all times. Based on her size and shape she estimated AB-011-EFT to be a woman. The Nossenean grunted as they lifted the heavy ring then held it aloft to slide it over the tip of the auger. Their next task was to climb on each side and fasten the head securely. The vibrations would tighten the fit, and it would require all their strength to loosen each nut in a few hours.

They jumped off the auger while the driver swung the auger over their heads and went back to digging before they'd even reached safety.

* * *

xxx

**_Enterprise_**

It was 0400 and Trip thought he should really catch a couple hours sleep before he showed up in Engineering. The observation deck was dark, he was the only one there, looking at the blown-up image of Nossena. He'd be coming there every night around midnight, and every morning he left empty-handed, having failed to meet T'Pol in the white space. Though he'd told T'Pol in the message that he would be there waiting, that Enterprise was going nowhere.

He couldn't understand why she didn't make contact. She knew he didn't have the psi ability to reach out to her, she was the one who had to make the connection happen. But for whatever reason she hadn't been in contact since the day she was taken to the mines. He worried that perhaps something'd happened, that she was no longer there. He had no idea how the Nossenean mines operated but he could imagine a bunch of unsavory characters unhappy about an alien in their midst. And if they ever learned she'd touched the Idol... There was also always the possibility of accidents, this was forced labor after all, and these were mines.

He'd taken his concerns to Archer, asked him to prod the Counsellor, find out how she was doing. The response back had been that everything was fine, there were no issues, with a reminder there was another five months ahead. As if that was going to keep him from asking every few days.

In the meantime all he could do was sit on the observation deck, night after night, on pins and needles, with his imagination serving up gory nightmares made worse by he fact he wasn't hearing from her.

As he reached his quarters he had a sudden thought perhaps tonight was the night she'd be trying to reach him. But he was so tired. He fell on the bed more than laid down on it, an arm over his eyes. He'd just close his eyes for a couple of minutes and then he'd go back to the observation deck, to wait some more.

* * *

xxx

**_Sphygarium Mines_**

They'd gone through two diamond head changes already, and it wasn't even mid-shift. The day would be long. T'Pol could feel the muscle fatigue in her arms and shoulders. And the breathing mask was it itching fiercely against her skin, right under her hairline, but she couldn't scratch it through the heavy gloves and couldn't take the mask off. This was not for fear of being seen but because the air was thick with a fine dust that would clog any airways.

She could tell from the sound that the ridged teeth were spinning more than they should. They'd need to change the head soon enough. Actually AB-011-EFT was already starting to unpack the crate that held the third diamond head.

There was another sound that she couldn't quite place. It started as a dull bass vibrato before amplifying into a full-scale rumbling. She'd never heard that noise before. It seemed to originate under her feet. T'Pol looked down, then over at the extractor. But the extractor was still going full speed, there was no sign that the sound originated there. The noise kept increasing though, finally getting AB-011-EFT's attention and the attention of those closest to her. They looked up and around, wondering what was going on. T'Pol straightened up, head cocked to the side, trying to decipher the sound. The rumbling deeped back into frequencies so low that they resonated all the way up her sternum.

She couldn't say what came first. If it was the loud bang that reverberated along the walls or the powerful wind of the explosion that sent the entire team rolling away from the digging site. And then the ground collapsed right under the extractor, who teetered on the edge before pitching forward into the black emptiness. The ground heaved and rolled from side to side and the hole grew larger, reaching up the tunnel to where the team had been thrown. The entire tunnel collapsed in turn, turning into a steep-sloped funnel that fed people and machines down to the gaping maw. Some clawed at the ground in a vain attempt to gain a handhold, others lunged for the sides to grab at any asperity, but it was to no avail, they were dislodged by gravity, equipment, carts, ore on the way to be processed. Everything rolled down into the yawning abyss.

T'Pol had been thrown far up the tunnel but found herself pitching down head first with the others. She too tried to stop her descent, toes digging into the dirt for anything to hold onto, hands grabbing at air. It didn't help. She was rolling down, yard after yard of steep descent that let her disoriented, arms and legs flailing without control. She was going down. The thought of Trip bubbled up, he would never know what happened, she couldn't tell him. There was no time. It all had happened too fast. Fear commingled with despair. Her mind screamed into the void. "Triiiip!"

She wanted to see him one last time. "Trip!"

And then blackness.


	7. Chapter 7 The Reversion

xxx

_**Enterprise**_

'Triiiip!' - Trip suddenly sat up, groggy from sleep. He'd had a nightmare, heard T'Pol calling for him. He realized he'd overslept, missed his alarm clock. He passed his hands over his face to wake himself up.

'Trip!' - This time he wasn't sleeping, wasn't dreaming. She was actually calling for him. He sprung out of bed, got caught in the sheets, threw the bedding all over the floor trying to extricate himself. Something'd happened to her.

He took the corridor at a run, still in his sweats, the crewmen flattening themselves along the walls, it was obvious there was an emergency. Trip barged in at a half-run on the bridge of Enterprise, "Jon! Captain!"

A bemused Captain Archer turned to him along with the entire bridge crew, "Trip!" Archer wasn't sure where to start. The chief engineer was out of uniform, not to mention late for his shift. He figured the man must have been exhausted from not sleeping, had decided to let him rest for a while. This was not what he was expecting.

"Something's happened to T'Pol! I know it!" Trip had grabbed the arms of the Captain's chair, "Jon!"

Archer got up, grabbing Trip gently but securely by the arm, guiding him towards the ready room. He raised his eyebrows at Hoshi, "Ensign, open a line to the Counsellor, I'll let you know when to go live." He turned to Trip, "Let's go to my ready room."

Travis had turned in his chair, an undecipherable expression on his face, and was watching them leave. Hoshi swiveled in her seat towards him, "Listen!" she urged, "Nobody knows what's going on yet, Trip's had us scared a few times already and there was no reason."

"I hope so," Travis nodded in return, he knew, "still..." He didn't need to finish.

In the ready room, Trip was pleading with an unconvinced Archer "You've got to believe me, Jon."

"But you said you were sleeping, you thought you dreamed it," Archer replied, trying very hard to figure out if the engineer had dreamt the whole thing. There was the small matter that it wasn't the first time Trip was crying wolf, they'd reached out to the Counsellor twice already, each time to be told there was nothing out of the ordinary, no reason for anyone to be worried.

"It was loud enough that it woke me up. I thought I'd dreamed it because I was pretty much passed out from exhaustion. But then it happened again! She's in trouble, Jon! We have to do something."

"But you say that's not how the bond usually works," Archer tried again.

"I am no Vulcan! This whole thing is new to me! You know I'm blind as a bat on the psi scales, for me to have heard it, it must have been pretty loud! Please, Jon!"

Archer saw something in his friend's face that convinced him. He sighed, reaching out for the intercom. "Very well, we'll ask the Counsellor again." His tone made it clear he expected they would get the same answer as the other two times.

* * *

xxx

_**Nossena**_

"Sir, Enterprise is calling," the secretary informed the Counsellor in measured tones, worried about distracting him.

The Counsellor pushed back from his desk with a muted exclamation. When were these Earthers going to leave him alone?! Thank the Idol he'd pushed for six months only. If he'd known, he'd pushed harder for the alien to be released. Just so they would leave him in peace. He took a deep breath, settled his features back into bland smoothness. "Patch them in." What did they want from him now?

A couple of minutes later his eyes were narrowed to slits. Same old, same old. Their engineer had some inkling or premonition that something bad was happening to his wife. If he understood the relationships correctly, with aliens one never knew. The Counsellor really wondered how people so, so... timid... had ever managed to reach out to the stars. A well-ordered culture knew not to assign any price to any one individual's life.

The secretary was listening on the other side of the door. He knew already that this was going to end up with him having to do something.

"Of course, Captain, let me reach out to the Sphygarium Mines and confirm that everything is all right," the Counsellor was saying.

"..."

"No, that's quite all right. It's not a bother at all. Do feel free to call any time, but I do want to remind you, there are only five months left. Only so much can happen in five months, right?"

"..."

"Would you mind waiting on the line while I have my secretary check?"

The secretary knew this was his signal to go back in and be told his orders, in this case to call the Overseer and confirm that the alien was okay. Before he did so he checked the cross-reference. The Overseer would only know the alien by her matriculate, FF-091-BZV. He dutifully made connection with the Overseer's office, waiting for the call to be picked up. The Counsellor's calls came on a specially reserved line, the Overseer was sure to answer within a few seconds.

A few seconds went by and still he was waiting. The wait went on so long that the Counsellor's face suddenly appeared in the doorway, a mute pantomime asking 'What's taking so long?' All the secretary could do in response was shrug his helplessness. Who knew what was taking so long.

He could hear the Counsellor in the office next door, bidding the captain of the Enterprise to wait a few minutes longer, they were having some connection problems. The secretary smirked inwardly. Connection problems, yes. As in nobody's was home, that's what.

Finally he was gratified to have the Overseer on the line. Relief gave way to worry then to deep concern. The secretary dropped the intercom like a hot potato, rushing back into the Counsellor's office. He could see the flashing light indicating the Counsellor was still on with Enterprise. He couldn't just say what he had to say. And yet he had to say it, "Counsellor!"

The Counsellor heard the urgency in his voice, looked up in surprise, mechanically putting a hand over the receiver so that the Enterprise crew would not hear. "Counsellor!" the secretary repeated, "The mines! There's been a sphygarium reversion!"

"What?!" the Counsellor's voice cut through the office. "The alien?!" That was his immediate concern. Sphygarium reversions happened all the time, sphygarium was a known unstable element, the lodes would grow and come undone randomly, less so when they were well established.

"Unknown, sir. They're missing an entire team. Fifty people." The secretary swallowed. "She was on the missing team."

The Counsellor looked at his desk for a few seconds in total silence. Then he looked at the receiver in his hand as if it was an object of great potential danger. He looked at the secretary, who was waiting, wondering what the Counsellor would do. Finally, the Counsellor raised the receiver to his mouth. "Captain Archer, please accept my apologies for the delay. There seems to have been an issue at the Sphygarium Mines. I have no other news, sorry, but I will reach out as soon as I hear anything."

The secretary still couldn't hear the other side of the conversation but he saw the Counsellor nod several times, "Yes, yes, Captain. That will be agreeable. We expect your arrival. I should have more news by then."

The Counsellor gently and carefully laid the receiver back in its receptacle, then he looked at the secretary. "Get me the Overseer now!" he barked.

From long association with the Counsellor, the secretary knew that the Overseer would be taking part in a very unpleasant conversation, very unpleasant indeed.

* * *

xxx

_**Sphygarium Mines**_

The pain cut through the darkness. Not an acute pain, the steady throbbing damaged bones, possibly broken. She remembered. She had been in the corridor with Captain Archer when there was an anomaly. The heavy steel plating had fallen from the ceiling right on her ankle and she couldn't move. Her ankle was in agony. She needed the Captain to lift the plate. There was another memory there, that he had done so or perhaps he hadn't, there had been another anomaly, another ripple in spatial physics. She didn't remember anymore. She'd gone to Sickbay. They'd repaired the bone.

But she wasn't in Sickbay. The smell was not the same. And the pain was still there. It couldn't be that they were still in the Expanse. The paradox in timelines brought her back to consciousness. She opened her eyes. Her ankle was throbbing. Logic reasserted itself, turned the world back right side up. It was the same ankle that had already been injured in the Expanse, that was why she'd thought of earlier times. But she was not in the Expanse. She was in the Sphygarium Mines, at the bottom of what looked like a cavern, unable to move because her leg was pinned to the ground by the case holding the heavy diamond head. She tried pulling her leg out but she couldn't, the weight was too heavy, the angle too awkward.

She looked around, saw some canary-yellow suits going here and there, some lurching as if not sure of their own footing, some more steady. "Help, please help!" she called out. It was AB-011-EFT, her work companion, that came over and pulled at the heavy box, grunting with the strain, but somehow in the end managing to free her leg. "Thank you," T'Pol said. The Nossenean woman just shrugged in response.

T'Pol looked around, taking in her surroundings. The sight was surreal. The ceiling, the walls, the ground, everything around was glowing sphygarium yellow, the planes and irregularities of the wall and ceiling signaling that this was a mineral cavern of sorts, not man-made. The air was clear, free of the unending dust that got everywhere and made everyone miserable. And most of all, it was quiet. There was no sound, no clangs, no calls. Just an extended stillness. "Where are we?" she asked.

AB-011-EFT looked at her sharply, "You don't know?!" Then she added with what T'Pol imagined was suspicion, she couldn't see her face through the breathing mask, "You're not familiar with sphygarium?"

T'Pol looked again, at the inmates in yellow staggering around, starting to regroup, at the few others laying down, arms or heads at odd angles, seeming to sleep, but from a sleep without end. The extractor was there too, twisted into an amorphous pile of steel. She quickly analyzed the probabilities of adverse events, realized they were manageable, "I am not familiar with sphygarium," she confirmed. Then she added, because the question would come up, "I am an alien."

AB-011-EFT's head whipped up and she could feel the Nossenean looking at her closely through her mask. The woman shook her head, "I'd heard rumors that there was an alien in the mines, word spread... but I never imagined it could be you!" She hesitated, obviously worried about hurting T'Pol's feelings, "I thought for sure it would be a man."

T'Pol had a sudden vision of Travis wearing the yellow uniform instead of her. That is how it should have been. She pushed the thought away. "I am a Vulcan. We are humanoid in form, and I look very much like a Nossenean woman, except for my ears who are shaped with a point." She wanted to distract from her status as an alien. "Where are we?" she asked again.

"We're inside the sphygarium lode," the woman answered.

"Inside the lode?" T'Pol had never heard of such a thing.

"It's called a reversion," AB-011-EFT explained. "Sphygarium is not an inert compound. It's alive, it's hard to explain. The lodes always change, sometimes there are new ones that develop, but if the sphygarium is not ready for harvest, it will close up the lode again, with everything inside it." Then as if she felt the need to explain further, she added, "That's what happened."

T'Pol looked up at the ceiling, spreading like a vault. It was hard to believe that they were inside the lode. "So we await the rescue teams?" she prompted.

AB-011-EFT scoffed in her mask. "It's sphygarium! There's no way for anyone outside to tell where we are in the mine! That's the whole point of the compound!" Then, realizing that her interlocutor was not familiar with sphygarium, "There's no escape. I only know one case where the miners found the bubble and freed those inside, and that was pure luck. No. We just wait here until we die."

"Until we die?" T'Pol repeated, trying to understand the timeline.

"The supplies came down with us," AB-011-EFT responded, "we'll have enough water to survive for days. We'll run out of air first."

T'Pol looked around at the cave, noting the irregular shape, the ceiling at an angle, the wide buttresses jutting all over the place. A quick estimate of the volume of air indicated they would have reserves for three days, so long as everyone remained calm, much less if people were upset or exerted themselves physically.

She knew what she had to do. "I have to talk to the others," she told AB-011-EFT, "We need to increase our odds for survival."

The Nossenean scoffed again, "There's no point. It's a done deal." As she said it, her hopes rose that perhaps they could be rescued. Another team had been lucky once. It could happen again. It was worth bringing it up to the others. She signaled to them, "Come with me, we're figuring out our resources."

T'Pol didn't think her leg was broken, she couldn't feel through the heavy workboot, but she needed support of some kind. She carefully got up, putting all her weight on her good leg. AB-011-EFT offered her arm for balance, letting T'Pol hobble, step by step, to the center of the cavern, where the other Nossesseni had gathered.


	8. Chapter 8 Lost ---

xxx

_**Nossena**_

"Why did put the alien on a new lode of sphygarium?! Why not an established one?!" The Counsellor had been a diplomat for many years, he rarely if ever raised his voice.

The Overseer knew he'd better have an explanation. He shouldn't have let his deputy see to things. "Your excellency, the alien was here for six months only, no time to learn the intricacies of harvesting sphygarium. A new lode was the easiest assignment I could give. The directions were to treat her well," the Overseer batted his words back at the Counsellor. Who'd ever heard of having to treat an inmate well? He'd given the directive all the consideration it deserved, that is none.

The counsellor huffed, unconvinced but not versed enough in the intricacies of mining sphygarium to argue. "Well... Do you have any idea where they are? Did the reversion form a bubble?"

"We don't know your excellency. Usually the sphygarium forms a bubble, but not always," the Overseer replied.

The Counsellor shook his head, "I would be grateful if you kept that to yourself." Hope was a powerful salve. If he could keep the Humans hoping their colleague was in a bubble, he would have more time to prepare them slowly for the fact she was gone, without compromising Nossena's accession to the United Federation of Planets, "The Starship Enterprise will be here in a couple of hours. I expect you to be on call to explain what happened," he added.

* * *

xxx

_**Enterprise**_

Archer felt more than he saw Phlox at his elbow. He kept stubbornly looking at his mug, waiting until the replicator filled it with a rich brew of coffee. It was only after he'd grabbed the mug that he turned to the doctor. "Phlox?"

He had to give it to the man for always showing up at the right time. Half an hour ago he was ready to drag Trip to sickbay to have the Commander's head examined, but it turned out that Trip was right. Something had happened to T'Pol. And now they were streaking back to Nosssena at warp five back, they'd be there within the hour. And Phlox just materialized out of thin air.

The doctor smiled his most ingratiating smile, "Captain!" He gestured towards an empty table, "If you have a minute?"

Archer privately reflected that if he had a minute he'd spend it in other ways than talking to the doctor, but he was the captain of a ship and had a dury to see to the good health of every member of his crew. And to listen to his CMO, "For you, always!"

Phlox looked around, making sure no crew member was within earshot before leaning over confidentially, "I was hoping to talk to you about Ensign Mayweather—"

"Travis?! Travis is fine!" Archer interrupted. He narrowed his eyes, "What did he do?..."

The Denobulan doctor held his hands up as a wall, "Oh it's not that, not that at all..., but have you noticed he's been somewhat.. hmmm... somber lately, hmmm?"

Archer thought back. Travis had been quiet, reserved. He'd chalked it up to him acquiring some maturity finally. "Now that you mention it, he's been more guarded I would say. Not an issue at all." Archer took hold of his cup, hoping that his answer had quelled the doctor's concern and he could make an exit.

But Phlox grabbed his arm, preventing an escape, "That's what I want to talk about. He's showing signs of depression. He's been beating himself up over the incident and feels terribly guilty about it."

'and as well he should,' thought Archer, but he didn't say so, "It will all fall back into place once T'Pols back," he affirmed. Overall he didn't care too much to make Travis feel better until she was back. Except that something'd happened at the mine and they didn't know what, so there was some uncertainty on that specific point.

"That's the thing," Phlox wasn't going to let him go without having said his piece, "I understand we're going back to Nossena, that there might be some issue."

Archer squinted at Phlox. Gosh, Hoshi worked fast, "That's correct, doctor, and?"

"And if you can involve Travis in any effort to rectify the situation, Captain, that's all I wanted to say. It will help make him feel valued and give him the opportunity to fix things."

* * *

xxx

_**Nossena**_

"What do you mean you can't find her?" Trip's voice resonated in the Counsellor's office. He'd been impatiently listening while the Overseer on the vidscreen explained about sphygarium and potential reversions, that a bubble had been formed with the missing miners inside.

But then Archer'd asked to see the screen showing their locations and after much roundabout explanation, the Overseer had admitted that perhaps they couldn't find the missing team.

Archer tried to placate Trip with a hand signal, turning to the Counsellor, "I find it hard to believe that a planet with the resources of Nossena cannot tell us if our crew member is alive or dead." He saw Trip pale. The engineer had not fully realized the implications of what the Overseer had said.

"You understand, Captain, that this just happened this morning, and I want to thank you for coming straight away," the Counsellor smoothly replied, "we need time to get the equipment in place that will allow us to identify lifesigns, but as soon as we do, you'll be the first to know."

Archer narrowed his eyes. The Counsellor was obfuscating. He pulled out his communicator, flipped it open, "Archer to Enterprise,"

"Enterprise here," Ensign Sato's voice came through.

"Ensign, please scan the sphygarium mines, let us know if you find a Vulcan biosign." He was staring straight at the Counsellor's face. He saw a wrinkle in the man's temple, a flicker immediately smoothed over. So that made the man nervous. The Counsellor had no idea whether T'Pol was alive or dead.

The minutes ticked by, Trip staring fixedly at the table, Archer staring at the Counsellor while aware of Trip next to him. He had to be ready if Hoshi came back with bad news and Trip lunged for the man's throat.

Finally his communicator beeped, loud in the silence that had settled on the room, making everyone jump. "Captain," Hoshi's tone was normal, "we've identified one Vulcan and twenty-nine Nossenean biosigns in close proximity inside the mines."

The Counsellor visibly exhaled, Trip relaxed, Archer let out a breath he didn't know he was holding, "Thank you, Ensign. Archer out." He turned to the Counsellor, "So now that we know she's alive, perhaps you can find her?" his tone was heavy with sarcasm.

The Counsellor sighed, toying with a pen on his desk, "It's not that easy, Captain. As I tried to explain, the phenomenon of sphygarium reversion is very particular, we know of no other mineral behaving the same way. Your colleague, and our citizens, are in a bubble in one of the sphygarium lodes, deep inside the mines."

"It sounds easy enough. Find the people, dig them out, done. We can lend you all the equipment you need to get them out," Trip replied.

The Counsellor shot him a sharp look. This was getting more difficult than he had expected. He sighed again, wishing he'd brought the Overseer in person. But then he didn't know that the alien was alive and he'd feared the Humans would exact revenge. In retrospect, not his best decision. "If you remember, sphygarium prevents any accurate measurement," he addressed the engineer, "we are not able to say precisely where they are."

There was a moment of stunned silence at the news. Then Trip started again, "You mean they're lost in there?"

At last they were getting somewhere. The Counsellor nodded profusely, "In the sense that we cannot say where they are, yes."

Trip interrogated Archer with a glance. The Captain nodded. Trip took out his communicator in turn, "Commander Tucker to Enterprise!"

"Enterprise here, Commander." On the bridge, Hoshi was making a face at Malcolm. Why were the officers calling in turn?

"The biosigns you just found, can you tell us their coordinates?"

"Aye, sir!" Hoshi leaned over her station, reading the output, "They're at 4124'12.2"N 210'26.5"E... uh, no, make that 5614'22.8"E 1205'56.7"S... huh... 3404'12.7"E... huh... 1250'56.6"S... huh..." finally she gave up, "I apologize, Commander, the coordinates keep shifting."

Trip waited for a couple of heartbeats, then he flipped his intercom shut, "No worries, it's not you. Thank you, Ensign."

There was silence in the room. Archer and Trip both turned to the Counsellor. "So now what do we do?" Archer said, wondering if that was a rhetorical question.

* * *

xxx

_**Sphygarium Mines**_

They had taken their masks off, one by one, as if the reality that they were all going to die together in this bubble of sphygarium annihilated any hurdles between them, social differences or the desire not to be recognized.

T'Pol had informed the others she was an alien, they'd been mildly curious but mainly accepting, resigned in advance to their fate. She was sitting on a slight rise of sphygarium, craddling her ankle, thinking about how to maximize their chances of survival. It seemed she was the only one, the other Nossesseni seemed disinterested. That was different, unexpected. Vulcans would have been rational and cold, analyzing precisely what happened. Humans would have been irrational and hot-blooded, exclaiming about the events or their luck or their dead comrades. But the Nossenean were acting like they were predestined for the gallows, already accepting that there was no other option.

There were always options. She found herself wishing for the presence of her Human shipmates, they'd be irrational but they'd be thinking of a myriad possible ways to escape their fate and survive. And she would be able to help identify those options that were impossible and those that may actually work, no matter what Vulcan's logical constructs said.

She knew from training that survival often was a knife's edge away from death, decisions made early that maximized one's chances. Without the will to survive the Nossesseni's chances were slim. And consequently her chances were slim. She needed to bring the Nossesseni around, have them spend their colllective energy on trying to survive, not lolling aimlessly waiting for death. They may know something about sphygarium that would be helpful.

AB-011-EFT's initial hopeful stance had been dashed by the others' fatalism but she had shown an inclination towards being hopeful. If she could convince her, the two of them together could convince the others.

She hobbled to where AB-011-BFT was standing, helmet in hand, looking at the walls. She was indeed a female, fairly small and silver-haired. T'Pol wondered what had brought her to the mines. She knew of experience the slimmest transgression would translate into forced labor for the benefit of the Nossenean government. None of that mattered anymore.

"What is everyone doing?" she asked the woman.

"There's nothing we can do," AB-011-EFT answered. "We're all going to die. They won't know where to find us."

"My people, Vulcans, are telepathic. We form close bonds with our companions and we are able to communicate through the bonds over long distance. My bondmate is on Enterprise," T'Pol replied. "I may be successful in reaching him through the bond. If I can they may be able to use the bond to locate us."

That got AB-011-EFT's attention. "You can feel your husband!" she exclaimed.

T'Pol gave a slight nod, it would be difficult to explain the nuances of a Vulcan bond, "Though the words you use are not precisely exact, that is an apt description. I am not providing this as a solution but as something we can try," she added, "there is no assurance I can reach him. I would usually reach him through meditation. Our ship may just be too far away, and I have never tried meditating inside of sphygarium before." She didn't add that it had been a long time since her last full meditation. At least the absence of noise would help.

Even if she encountered Trip, let him know what happened, Enterprise would be too far away. There might be another Federation starship in the area. It would have to be within three days of Nossena. The probabilities were abysmally low.

"How can I help?" AB-011-EFT was inching back towards hope.

"We do not want to raise hopes and disappoint anyone," T'Pol remarked, "but it would be helpful for a couple of people to know what I am attempting, make sure nobody disturbs me. Also, if I do succeed, my colleagues will have many questions about sphygarium."

"XY-26-UPY has the most experience of anyone," AB-011-EFT exclaimed. "He's the one we need to talk to!"

"That is agreeable," T'Pol replied. This was as she had planned. XY-26-UPY drove the extractor and had the most influence, owing to the weight of experience. The group would follow his lead.


	9. Chapter 9 Trip's White Space

_Author's Notes: This was supposed to be a short story... It's taking more words than I expected to tell it. I'm not going to predict how many more chapters. I'll only say we're more than halfway there, possibly 2/3 of the way._

* * *

xxx

_**Enterprise**_

They hadn't fully exited the airlock when Archer turned to Trip, "Pull everyone from the science teams who can help and meet me in the command center," he was already striding towards the bridge.

"Aye, sir!" Trip called to his retreating back.

By the time Archer got there, Trip had rounded pretty much everyone from the science teams. They needed all the help they could get, they would have to figure out the qualities of an ore they'd never seen before. He also brought the biology geeks, after all the Overseer'd said, '_Sphygarium_ _is organic and grows, its lodes are life-like and can form or recede at will._' For some reason, that made him think of mold.

Archer briefly related the situation, the people caught in a sphygarium reversion, the inability to locate them because of the properties of the surrounding ore, the need to figure something out. He opened the floor to comments and questions.

"How much time do they have?" Yskoff asked, a tall and pale biological engineer.

A deafening silence fell over the room. Archer looked at Trip who looked at Archer. They hadn't thought of the time issue.

"What do you mean?" Archer finally asked.

"Well, if they're somewhere in the lode, I assume there's an air bubble of some type or they'd be dead already. The air is eventually going to run out," the man answered, focused on the facts, mindless of the room's reaction to what he was saying.

Archer looked at the tablechron, counting back to Trip's irruption on the bridge. Altogether a half-day had passed since the explosion.

He looked up, "Needless to say, time is of the essence. We've brought samples of sphygarium back from the planet. We'll have a status call in two hours."

He turned to talk to Trip but the engineer was already gone.

* * *

xxx

**_Enterprise_**

"Phlox?!"

"Hmm?" Phlox looked absent-mindedly up from his terminal.

"I need your help!" Trip didn't give him time to regroup. "It's about T'Pol! I need to contact her!"

"Uh, I see...," Phlox really didn't, "Wouldn't Lieutenant Hesse or Hoshi be better sources?" he asked, wondering why the engineer thought he would have any technical expertise on the matter.

"No, its not like that! I mean I need to contact her in the white space!" he saw that Phlox was nonplussed, "through the bond!"

That didn't help. "The bond?"

"Yes," Trip rushed to explain, "We can sense each other, there's a white space in which we can meet-"

"Isn't that a little —- hmm ... personal?"

Trip felt himself flush, "It's not what you think," he protested, "We talk, that's all we do. But only if she initiates it. I can access the white space when I have strong emotions, like if I hurt myself, but I can't do it on command. You know I have no psi reading!"

"Actually, you do have a psi reading," Phlox felt obligated to correct, "everyone does. Yours is very low, that's all."

Sometimes Trip wondered if Phlox was doing it on purpose. "Yes, well, psi null and all, I need to reach her! I thought perhaps you have meds that can help? She usually contacts me during meditation. If I can get to the same state, perhaps..."

"Ah, I see," Phlox said, suddenly enlightened, "Hmm, let's see, I would have to research what happens to the Vulcan brain during meditation, see if I can replicate it, and how."

"You have to do it fast, doctor! They're running out of air!"

Phlox stared at Trip for a couple of seconds then jumped up from his chair, "Let me work on it. Come back in a couple of hours!"

He didn't look up when the Sickbay doors swooshed open, then shut, he was already at the medical database terminal. If he hadn't found a drug by the time Trip came back, he'd have to consider letting the Commander hurt himself.

* * *

xxx

_**Sphygarium Mines**_

"It won't work," XY-26-UPY affirmed.

"It certainly will not work if I do not try!" T'Pol snapped back, trying to repress her irritation. She did need to meditate. Apart from any consideration of finding Trip.

"How much time do you need?" AB-011-EFT placated, anxious to see T'Pol try. The alien may succeed yet. She needed her to.

"I should meditate for at least two hours," T'Pol replied, looking around to find a place that would allow her the maximum privacy. That was not an issue, most of the Nossesseni were asleep.

"We will make sure you're not disturbed," AB-011-EFT reassured her, talking for both her and XY-26-UPY. He shot her a look long on what he thought about the whole endeavor but she simply stared him down.

T'Pol located a slight depression that shielded her from sight. She sat in a meditation pause, pulling her legs to her, careful of her injured ankle. She closed her eyes, mentally focusing on the flame of a candle, feeling the outside world slowly recede around her. Almost all the outside world. Her ankle was throbbing, sending regular pain messages to her brain. She hadn't even considered a healing trance, she could not spare the time. They could not spare the time. She proceeded to isolate the pain, cleave it from her conscious mind. It was a painstaking effort, fiber by fiber, neuron by neuron almost, but eventually she was able to quiet the connection. She could finally hope to reach the required level of meditation.

Her consciousness started soaring past the sphygarium bubble, past the mines... There was a rush of noise. She heard it as an indistinct murmur, a rhythmic chant, before it coalesced into sounds and then words. "Grow! Push! Grow!" These were puffs of sounds, hundreds of them, thousands of them, as many as raindrops, each going through a repetitive echolalia, "Grow! Push! Pain! Retract!... Grow! Push! Pain! Retract!" The noise was mental, intense, a cacophony of voices, an impenetrable wall. She could no longer orient herself, she could not push past the noise... "Grow! Push! Pain! Retract!" She understood without conscious understanding that it was the sphygarium talking, it was alive.

She could not meditate through the sphygarium. She would have to let the others know she failed. She started the process to gradually come out of her meditative trance.

* * *

xxx

_**Meanwhile on Enterprise**_

"Ah! Commander Tucker! I was waiting for you!"

"You have something?!" Trip could hardly wait. He'd spent the last couple of hours with the science teams, waiting to go back to Sickbay.

"This!" Phlox was waving a hypo in the air. Trip tried to take it from him but the doctor deftly retracted it, holding the engineer at arm's length, "Just a minute here, we have to go over side effects first."

"I really don't care about side effects," Trip replied, "I need to contact T'Pol! That's all!"

"But this is potent medication," Phlox would not be dissuaded, "You'll be able to reach a state of pseudo-meditation but the side effects will be severe and undesirable. You have to provide informed consent."

"Fine, I consent! Now give me the damn drug!" Trip really didn't care what happened to him. He needed to reach T'Pol. End of story.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk," Phlox could be a despot in Sickbay, "I said informed consent! What if I tell you that you may end up throwing up so much that you risk an internal hemorrhage?"

"Doctor!" Trip was getting upset, "If you don't give me this and something happens to T'Pol, I'll hurt a lot worse than an internal hemorrhage! The bond, remember?!"

That stopped Phlox short. "Very well," he reluctantly agreed, "but does Captain Archer know about this?"

"It is Captain's Archer's only chance to find his crew member! What do you think?!"

Actually, Trip hadn't told Archer any of it. "Were running out of time!" he insisted.

His bluff paid off. "Very well, if you would lie down so I can keep an eye on you," Phlox was patting the nearest biobed. Trip almost jumped on it. He felt the prick of a hypo against his neck.

* * *

xxx

_**Sphygarium Mines**_

T'Pol felt herself fall back to the ground in a long arc of descent, saw in her mind's eye her body spiraling slowly to the ground. Her attempt at meditation had failed.

And suddenly she was in a different space, an alien place she had never seen before. She looked around in shock. Where was she?

"Trip?!"

What was Trip doing there? He was sitting in a beach chair, smiling at her. She realized she was sitting in a beach chair as well. There was an expanse of white sand in front of her, framed with palm trees, and then a turquoise sea. She deducted this must be Florida. Trip's idea of the white space.

But how could she be in the white space, she had failed to reach the required meditation level. And he was psi-null. "Trip?!" she exclaimed again.

He was looking at her with a thousand-watt smile, "So sleeping beauty wakes up!"

"What are you doing here?!" she still could not wrap her mind around the logically impossible, even as she was internally rejoicing that he was there.

"I came to rescue you, of course!" he was still smiling at her, he couldn't stop staring at her.

"You are not aboard Enterprise?" how could he rescue her when Enterprise was far away? the only logical explanation was that he was no longer aboard.

"Of course I'm on board! We're right here, in orbit!"

That did not make logical sense. Enterprise should have been long gone on its next mission. And if it was in orbit, why had they not been rescued? But Trip was speaking again, "We're spending the next six months in the Nossena quadrant. Didn't you get our message?"

She shook her head, "I have not received any communication from anyone since you came to visit with Captain Archer."

"What?!" Trip was horrified, "the whole time you had no idea?! We didn't leave you alone, we'd never abandon you!" He jumped out of his chair, started walking briskly in a circle, "I can't believe they didn't give you the message! Is that why you didn't contact me in the white space? I've been waiting every day."

T'Pol shook her head, "I have not been able to meditate fully, due to a variety of factors." That reminded her, "How did you access the white space?"

"Phlox. He figured some kind of cocktail of drugs. I needed to speak with you very soon." Trip stopped walking, came to sit back down, taking her hands in his, "I understand you're in a bubble?"

"That is correct. I take it you have not located us?"

Trip grew serious, "We know you're alive but we can't find you in the sphygarium. Can't pinpoint any coordinates. Your science teams are working on a solution. What I want to know is, how much air do you have left?"

"It is difficult to take precise measurements of the dimensions of the bubble we are in, but I estimate we have less than three full days before the oxygen levels dip below what is necessary to maintain humanoid life. Symptoms of oxygen deprivation should start showing in two point eight days." The scene in front of her eyes was getting lighter, more diffuse. There was something else she needed to say before he left. "The sphygarium is alive..."

"What?!" but Trip was already disappearing, his form now only a vague curtain of colored light. "We'll find you! Don't worry!" were the last words he said.

And then he was gone.

The words echoed in her ears as she opened her eyes again on the yellow of the sphygarium. A living organism. She got up slowly, letting the pain of her ankle reassert itself so that she would not injure it further. She needed to let XY-26-UPY and AB-011-EFT know.

Know what exactly? That people outside knew they were alive. That was progress, however small. She doubted that news that these were working on trying to locate them would be met with more than desolate fatalism.

* * *

xxx

_**Enterprise**_

Trip suddenly opened his eyes, feeling the world lurch right side up.

"So, how did it go?" Phlox was leaning over him, seeming concerned, "You seemed out of it for twenty minutes."

For all answer Trip leapt off the biobed, running to the Sickbay washroom. He spent long minutes retching up everything in his stomach, then what felt his guts.

When he emerged, pale and sweaty, Phlox was huffing, "Hmmm, I tried to warn you about side effects. Unfortunately, I don't have time to counter the side effects. It would be dangerous to expose you to another dose for at least 24 hours."

Trip wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, his forehead damp with perspiration. "And what happens if I use it again?" Needless to say, he would use it again. T'Pol only had two and a half days of good air left, he wasn't going to be stopped by some minor nausea.

"As I said before, you could end up with an internal hemorrhage, throwing up blood. Is that what you want?" Phlox's voice had gone up, a sign he was getting agitated.

Trip threw his hands up as if to ward him off, "Not to worry, doc, I'll be good. I need to talk to the Captain."

With that, he was gone. Phlox looked at the closed Sickbay doors for a few seconds. He wanted to believe that the Commander would be cautious but he couldn't silence the part of him asking when that had ever been the case.


	10. Chapter 10 Captain's Log

_**Enterprise**_

**"Captain's log: We are still in orbit around Nossena. Commander Tucker was able to communicate with Commander T'Pol...**"

Archer pauses the recording, sighing with exasperation. Hopefully nobody's going to come back and ask how that's possible; he himself has a hard enough time understanding this bond thing, all he knows is that Trip's gone around his back to Phlox and somehow convinced the doctor to give him drugs that made him able to mentally connect with T'Pol.

He blew his stack when Trip told him. Incensed was not even the word for it. He's without his number 2 for six months, and his current number 2 decides to take some mind-altering stuff with nasty side effects, possibly lethal. No thought about the fact they have a mission to run.

Except that what he did was in support of the mission. That's why he finally calmed down. Now he's ordered Phlox to work on the compound and take care of those goddam side effects, stat. They'll need to contact T'Pol again. Like they could keep Trip away from the stuff now anyway.

The whole thing sounds crazy. He might as well write down that the man took LSD. Hopefully nobody at Starfleet will be trying to put two and two together. He sighs again and resumes recording.

**"... and found out that ****the sphygarium is alive. The Nossesseni have confirmed it is a form of rock life, something we've never encountered before. They also tell us it is very minimally sentient and has no** **self-awareness."**

Archer pauses the recording again. From what he understands, sphygarium is more like an amoeba, perhaps a locust, or a bee in a hive. But bees are capable of some fairly sophisticated thinking and he doesn't want to draw comparisons. The Federation will have to send its own scientists to figure out exactly what it is. When T'Pol's back they can check with her what she thinks. In the meantime, all he cares about is that sphygarium is not hostile. He starts musing about the possibility of sentient rocks, a civilization of them. He can't even begin to imagine what that would look like. Perhaps he'll see it in his lifetime. He pulls back to the log.

**"The science teams have been working through the night to find a way to counteract the effect of the sphygarium. They were partly successful and were able to compensate the positional interference from the infraepislon waves of the sphygarium to derive the mining team's ****latitude and longitude coordinates, ****extrapolating from their last known location, but they are unable to compensate for depth readings disturbance."**

That is a mouthful. Archer pretty much read it straight from the status padd delivered to him this morning by the science team. If it is morning. A bleary glance at the deskchron shows it is. Technically. He's been up close to twenty-four hours, morning and night don't have much significance anymore. That's how T'Pol would say they don't mean anything. He tiredly hits the record button again.

**"We're in a race against time. ****There's only a couple of days of air left in the sphygarium bubble. ****The science teams are working furiously to analyze the compound and get a fix of how deep in the missing people are, but it may take them longer than two days to get a result. I've ordered ****Commander Tucker to work on a trial and error approach, with the help of Ensign Mayweather."**

Travis's name reminds Archer of his run-in with Phlox in the elevator. He swears the doctor must have ambushed him. Typical Phlox, a large grin, and then go for the kill. He remembers the exchange as if it ist happened.

_"Captain!" Phlox is all a-grin._

_But Archer has other things on his mind, like going to the command center and finding out how the teams are doing. It's close to midnight, time for another status session. "Yes, Doctor," he answers absent-mindedly._

_"We're in orbit around Nossena," the doctor says._

_'Tell me something I don't know', Archer thinks as he turns to Phlox with a smile, "Yes, Doctor, that is correct. We're in orbit around Nossena."_

_"Then you don't need a pilot, do you?" Phlox continues._

_That stops Archer. He stands a little bit straighter in the elevator. They've arrived and he steps out, followed by Phlox. He turns to him, "Not really, what are you asking?"_

_"Remember the conversation we had about letting Ensign Mayweather help in the recovery effort, hmmm? How he's been despondent and that would be good for his morale?" Phlox knows how to stack up the arguments, "And good for the morale of the crew, to see that there are ways to amend past mistakes? Hmm?" Phlox is grinning._

_Archer has other more important things to deal with. Having Travis help will be welcome any day. Phlox didn't have to try so hard, it's just that he's so busy, he's forgotten he has resources available. "Yes, Doctor, of course. I'll have him join us in the command center." That'll leave Lieutenant Reed and Ensign Sato as the seniors on the bridge. Plenty good enough._

Archer stops the recording, hesitates a second, then starts again,

**"****It's 0456. ****We have forty-eight hours to find Commander T'Pol and the other** **miners before they run out of air. ****" **

It may seem like plenty of time. But forty-eight hours is nothing, not when you're looking for a needle in a haystack, even a much reduced haystack.

* * *

xxx

_**Enterprise - Forty-Two Hours Left**_

There's a hushed silence as the acting chief science officer stops speaking. A pall settles on the command center. They're no closer to understanding the full spectrum of infraepsilon waves and how the sphygarium is playing havoc with them. The science officer acknowledged that without the Nossesseni providing the coordinates of the team's last known location they would be missing three out of three variables.

"What do you have to report, Commander?" Archer turns to Trip, hoping he has a concrete plan, or the teams may get discouraged.

Fortunately, the chief engineer steps up to the plate. He quickly keys the central computer and the entire command center lights up with dozens of detailed maps, one for each screen.

"We have extrapolated the configuration of the sphygarium lode from external readings," Trip explains, pointing to the maps, "somewhat of a shadow contouring." The scientists around the room nod in acknowledgement. "What you see here are computer-generated strata images, one for every thirty yards of depth. Based on the information provided as to the amount of air available to the missing team, we estimate that's the height of the bubble they're in." He pauses, looking around at the room. "Now, that's where we go in full trial and error mode."

He calls up another picture, that of a round probe. "We've spent the past few hours replicating this probe and a few dozen others. We have the teo-dimensional coordinates of where the team is, give or take a few meters."The audience nods its approval. "As much as it pains me to say this, because of how antiquated the method is, we- I... can think of no better approach than to transport a probe at thirty meters interval. If it materializes inside sphygarium, this is what we get on the round-trip,"

Trip calls up another picture, of a twisted pancake-shaped disk that they all understand was a probe. "If it materializes inside a bubble, we'll get a beep that the sensors are on and we'll be able to capture any surrounding info. At this point, we assume there's only one bubble." The scientists exchange worried glances, they hadn't considered the possibility.

Archer looks around at the room, "Anyone see a better solution?"

They don't, Trip had painstakingly shopped the approach around, trying to come up with something less time-sensitive. Finally one of the junior scientists raises her hand.

"Yes?" Archer asks. Did they miss something obvious, like when they had not given any thought to how much time the missing team had.

"Have you computed how much distance you'll be able to cover in the next... forty-two hours?" the woman blushes, uncomfortable with bringing up the potential demise of their commander.

Trip nods his approval. That's a good question. "Yes, that's why we have a sound system on the probes. We'll be sending them in clusters of six, one every thirty meters. If a probe materializes in an air pocket, the loop closes, and we get a chime. If not, we'll bring back the pieces." He looks down at his padd notes, "Without clustering them, we could get to a depth of one point three miles. With the clusters, we'll reach five miles."

"What if the team is below five miles?" someone pipes up in the back.

Trip sighs. He's thought about it. "Probabilities are that the missing people are in a range of one to five miles below the surface of Nossena." They all nod, they know about probabilities from their Commander.

"Wouldn't the heat kill them if they are lower than that?" That's another junior. Trip shakes his head. T'Pol's people are good.

"This is Nossena, not Earth," he reminds them. "And the Nossesseni tell us that the sphygarium also has isolating qualities, they won't even be fork-tender." There's a general chuckle. He has succeeded in lifting the mood, somewhat.

"All right, everyone to your stations! Time's wasting!" Archer interrupts. He looks up to the chron. They have forty-one hours and forty-eight minutes left.

* * *

xxx

_**Sphygarium Mines - Thirty-Seven Hours Left**_

"Wake up, sleepy head!"

The call is familiar, as is the view that greets her sight. She stares at the waves, wondering how her engineer husband can replicate things of such randomness, even in his mind. "I am not 'sleepy head'. I am attempting to conserve oxygen by limiting my activity level," she replies, miffed.

"Of course you are, of course you are," he's grinning, he just so loves baiting her. "How's the air?" he asks.

"There has been no noticeable decrease in the quality or volume of available air," she responded. "The Nossesseni fatalistic acceptance of their upcoming death is positively impacting the rate of oxygen absorption."

Trip frowns, trying to figure out what she means. Then it comes to him, "Ah! You mean they're not panicking and gulping down all the air?"

"That is what I said." There's the slightest crease between her eyes. She cannot understand why he has issues with her perfectly clear explanation. She feels the need to explain further, "I have talked to the Nossesseni, they were relieved that outside know they are alive. They do not believe it will be possible to find us in time."

"Well, I believe we will. You'll see. We've figured out a part of your coordinates, only question is how deep down under you are. I've been leading an effort to figure it out. We're a mile down already, and still going."

"I have no way of telling how deep in the mines we are," she replied. Then, as the thought strikes her, "Who is manning the project?"

He knows she means while he's talking to her. "Travis is helping me, he's been working nonstop, like he's physically trying to dig his way to y'all," he says. That draws a raised eyebrow but she does not comment. It's just as well, he'd have to tell her about the pile of bent and flattened probes that's accumulating in the corridor to the transport room. He'd rather change the subject, "You said the sphygarium was alive?"

"It is alive, I felt its consciousness, those of all its particles."

"Does it seem hostile? Archer wants to know."

She is silent for a second, thinking back to the chorus of voices when she attempted to meditate, "It is not hostile. It is responding to basic biological needs, to grow. It does feel pain. It seems that sphygarium reversion is a response to pain."

"The pain of mining..." Trip guesses that's what.

"There does not seem to be another source of pain," she agrees.

So basically, it seemed like the ore twitched in pain and the missing miners were caught in the reflex action. He isn't sure what to do with the knowledge. "And how are you doing?"

"I am fine." It could mean any number of things. He hopes she is truly fine. She is studying him closely, "But you look ill."

"I am not ill," Trip hastens to correct, "It's the drugs Phlox gave me. He found a less potent combination but it's actually making me more seasick."

"The drugs are making you sick?"

"Just unpleasant side effects. But Phlox was able to modulate them somewhat. He figured out a new formulation and we're doing a trial run. That's why we're talking right now, otherwise I'd have to wait a full day. "

"A trial run? What are the criteria for success?"

He can't answer without telling her more than he'd like and he's reminded never to underestimate her. He goes straight to the end, sugar-coating it, "How I feel when I come out of the trance. Last time I didn't feel queasy but the end result was not so pleasant. This time I feel seasick, so perhaps it won't be as bad."

Her eyebrow raises at the illogical conclusion, "You need to remain operational, I am perfectly capable of waiting alone for rescue." Of course, she needs him to focus on finding her and the miners.

Trip grins, "I love you too. But I do need to talk to you from time to time so I can find out the conditions within the bubble, see if we need to speed things up." That's a lie, there's no way they could speed things up if they wanted to. He just wants to see her, talk to her, just in case... He won't go there, he refuses to even think about it.

He's about to lean in for a kiss when he feels the pull of the world around him. The effect of the drugs is waning, he must say good-bye. ""Phlox is working on making the compound more stable..." He can't finish the thought or tell whether it's a happy one for her. She's already disappearing in a curtain of light.

* * *

xxx

_**Enterprise**_

Phlox's face reappears in his field of vision. "How did it go?" the physician's concerned.

Trip jumps off the biobed and runs to the washroom. Phlox frowns, shaking his head. It hasn't worked. But Trip emerges a couple of minutes later, a broad smile on his face, "It worked, Doc! I wasn't half as sick as last time!"

Phlox's scowling, "I believe the goal of the exercise is that you're not sick at all, hmmm? At least, that's what the Captain wants."

"Come on, Phlox, it's just a little seasickness. I'll be fine! You can tell the Captain this was a success!"

The doctor turns around, looking at the database screen, his back to Trip, "You go right ahead and tell Captain Archer you think it was a success. I'll be working on additional adjustments."

* * *

xxx

**_Sphygarium Mines - A Little Over Thirty-Six Hours Left_**

T'Pol sits up, the connection has been broken. AB-011-EFT is staring at her, the other Nossesseni are in various stages of dozing or resting.

"Did you hear from the outside again?" the Nossenean is hopeful.

T'Pol nods. She considers, weighing what to disclose and what not to. "They have the partial coordinates of our location," she finally says.

As predicted, AB-011-EFT hears it as a major success. She claps her hands in front of her face, "May the Idol be praised until the end of times! They will find us!"

"We must remain calm, there is still much work that has to be done," T'Pol replies curtly. That visibly deflates AB-011-EFT.

She rationalizes that she expressed disapproval because any excitement from the Nossenean will translate into an additional oxygen intake, which they can ill afford. She would rather not consider that she had an emotional reaction to praises of the Idol, which is the reason for her confinement.


	11. Chapter 11 On Bubbles

xxx

_**Nossena - Thirty-One Hours Left**_

"It feels pain?" The Overseer's face expressed his doubts.

Archer nodded, "Yes, sphygarium reverses as a response to pain."

The Overseer scoffed, "Pah! How would you know that?! Did you talk to the sphygarium?!" he sneered.

Archer suddenly remembered that only the Counsellor knew they'd been in contact with T'Pol. Fortunately Trip wasn't there or he'd already blurted it out. He cleared his throat, aware that he would probably end up divulging more than he wanted, "Commander T'Pol is a Vulcan. Vulcans are a telepathic species. She sensed the ore." He hoped that was enough.

But it wasn't. The Overseer snarled in disbelief, "Even if she could sense the sphygarium, how would you know about it?"

That was the thousand-dollar question. Archer glanced at the Counsellor, who got very busy looking at his pen. He proceeded carefully, "Commander T'Pol's bondmate is on Enterprise. A bond is a Vulcan form of metacommunication between closely related individuals, that is how we came to find out -," he didn't have time to finish.

"External contact with the prisoners is forbidden!" the Overseer was trembling with rage.

"There was no external contact until you lost our Commander!" Archer raised his voice in turn, "Not counting twenty-nine of your own people!"

This time the Counsellor's cut in, "Gentlemen!" He turned to the Captain, "We are grateful to know our people are alive, thanks to your Commander T'Pol." The Overseer looked like he was about to choke. "But this, this finding about the sphygarium, this is news to us. Does that mean you are still in contact with her?"

Archer narrowed his eyes at the man. So the Counsellor was playing both sides of the issue. Cozy up to the Overseer by pretending to be shocked at the communication when he'd known about it all along. "Are you referring to my message?" he asked pointedly, "because apparently it was never delivered."

Archer saw the shocked surprise on the Overseer's face, but the Counsellor appeared nonplussed. So the man didn't know about it. He kept going, "As for our latest contact, our doctor has developed a biological accelerant which allows Commander T'Pol's bondmate to communicate with her, at great personal cost to him. This allows us to check the vital state of everyone in the bubble. Everyone," he meaningfully said towards the Overseer.

The Counsellor picked up on it, "We are worried about our people as well, Captain. Worried enough that we will overlook the breach in regulations, on an exceptional basis," that was clearly intended for the Overseer.

Archer relaxed. Now he understood the Counsellor's end game. He changed the subject, "What's important here is that the sphygarium reversions are a result of sensory pain."

The Counsellor and the Overseer went quiet, obviously chewing on the news. The Overseer finally looked up, "But then how come we can exploit older strata without reversion?"

"Perhaps it's a question of age," Lieutenant Reed replied, "Perhaps new lodes are more sensitive because they're still growing." They all turned to look at the Lieutenant. Archer was glad for the support. Trip should have been there but he couldn't have budged him from the transporter room even if he'd wanted to.

The theory was sound, if unproven. The Nossesseni seemed to agree. "But then how can we mitigate the pain?" the Counsellor asked. He knew that the Overseer may not care much that the sphygarium felt pain, but less reversions would mean less accidents, a safer mine, and a safer mine was a more productive mine. And it would portray Nossena in a good light with the Federation, a useful thing when one was applying for membership.

"The obvious answer would be to wait until the lodes mature," Archer proposed.

The Counsellor reflected for a few seconds then he spoke to the Overseer, "We need to stop mining new lodes until we have an answer."

He turned to the Enterprise officers, "Thank you for bringing this to our attention, Captain. We will assemble a study team, explore the question and see how we can alleviate the sphygarium sensory reaction." He stood up as a signal the meeting was over.

Once the Captain and his Lieutenant had filed out of the room, the Overseer exploded, "Stop mining new lodes! Do you realize how much is at stake?!"

The Counsellor eyed him coldly, "I do very well realize how much is at stake. What is at stake is our membership in the United Federation of Planets. You have plenty of sphygarium in the existing lodes, concentrate on those."

"But the extraction is more complex! Our profitability is much lower!"

"'Our' profitability," the Counsellor replied, "belongs to Nossena. You're hardly paying for labor, productivity is not a concern. "

He suddenly felt fatigued, letting the weight of the mission round on his shoulders, "I will let the Exalted Leader know about this development."

* * *

xxx

_**Enterprise - Twenty-Nine Hours Left**_

The tension in the transporter room was thick enough to cut with a knife. Archer hesitated on the threshold, watching the silent ballet, Travis lining up the probes, Trip programming them, both men focused on their task to the exclusion of everything else. Other technicians were cleaning up old probes, trying to be as useful as they could while giving a wide berth to the two men on the transport pad.

Travis looked positively gray from exhaustion. Trip had dark circles under his eyes. The doors swooshed open behind Archer and he turned around, acknowledging Lieutenant Reed and Dr. Phlox with a nod. The doctor had told him he'd refined the drugs, side effects should be minimal. He was coming for the trial run. Reed straightened even further and walked to the console. He said a few words to the technician, who stepped aside. Phlox made a beeline for Trip. He wasn't even trying to smile. "Commander?"

Trip paused for a second, saw Phlox, checked the wallchron, looked at Phlox again, warily, "What's up, doc?" he sounded as cheerful as ever, even if his eyes spoke fatigue and frustration. He got up from where he was kneeling, wiping his hands on his uniform, "It's too early for the next dose, unless you come carrying happy news?"

Phlox nodded, "I was able to refine the formulation further, there would be no side effects, if you would like to try it out. Lieutenant Reed is here to replace you. Afterwards, you need to take time to eat and rest, for optimal functioning."

Trip made a sound between a snarl and a chuckle, "You're kidding, right?"

Phlox balanced on his heels, "Which part are you talking about? Trying the drugs or having Lieutenant Reed replace you?"

"The part about resting," he made a sweeping gesture with his hand, "Not that we're doing much good here, nothing's working, but I've got to keep trying." He noticed the Captain, "Ah! Captain Archer! Hello, sir."

"Commander," Archer saluted back, trying to figure out whether Trip was close to an emotional meltdown, "You need to take the time to rest and eat, the technicians are perfectly capable of monitoring the probes while you sleep and Lieutenant Reed is here to replace you."

Trip shook his head, "Not happening. The only reason I'm leaving here is to contact T'Pol. Once that's done, I'm back here." A chime from the monitoring system interrupted them. They looked up in surprise at Travis who looked back with the same astonishment, then let out a whoop, "We've got one!"

Trip rushed to the console, taking over from a Lieutenant Reed only too glad to make space. He quickly increased the volume so they could listen to what the sensors were sending back. There was no sound. He frowned at the console, "Getting the probe back," he announced to the room.

They stared in consternation at what materialized on the transport pad, its top third squashed to nothingness. A false positive.

"Record the exact coordinates," Trip told the technician. He turned to Archer, "See, that's why I need to be back here. This isn't the first false positive. I'm tracking the coordinates closely, on the outside chance there's a trail of bubbles..." he didn't need to finish.

Archer nodded, "Very well, Commander." He turned to Phlox, "I guess that's your answer, doctor." The two men left, Phlox's voice carrying through the room, "With the new formulation, you should be able to connect every five hours without adverse side effects. But only once every five hours, you hear?!" And I insist you get some rest after.." The rest was cut off by the doors.

xxx

Archer turned to look at the transporter pad again. Travis was lining up the next array of probes, his face set. Archer made a beeline for him. "At least we got the Nossesseni thinking, we've ensured the well-being of the sphygarium."

Travis was busy adjusting a command in one of the probes. He finished, close the panel back and tightened the screws, without saying a word. Archer felt sorry for him. "Listen, son," he said, "I know what I said when I was angry but what happened with the sphygarium, that whole reversion thing, losing them, that wasn't your fault."

His task completed, Travis stood up until he was looking Archer straight in the face, "I appreciate what you're trying to do, Captain, but we both know that's not the case."

That took Archer by surprise. He suddenly saw what he hadn't noticed before, the way Travis was holding himself. This was a man facing him not just a young ensign fresh out of school. He blinked, nodded slowly. "I understand. As you were, Ensign." Travis nodded and sank back to the probes.

As Archer was leaving the room, he heard Travis calling to him, "We'll find them, sir!"

Archer stopped, slowly turned around, with a slight smile, "Yes, we will, Ensign, if anybody can, you will." As he left, it struck him that it was Ensign Mayweather trying to make him feel better. He shook his head. Would wonders ever cease?

* * *

xxx

_**Sphygarium Mines - Nineteen Hours Left**_

"Hey, are you okay?!" Everything had been fine when he checked on her five hours before, and the time before that, but now she didn't seem herself. He couldn't put his finger on it. She looked different, greener than usual, as if she were flushed. Her eyes were unfocused. "D'you hear me? Are you okay?!"

He'd never had to repeat himself before. It was like she was there and she wasn't, "You should have enough air, unless your estimates were off?"

"My estimates were accurate," that didn't even earn him an eyebrow. Something was off.

"It's just you seem... kind of sluggish."

She blinked at him, seemed to think about what he said, "The lack of nutrition depresses activity."

Trip could have kicked himself. Of course, they hadn't eaten in two full days already, "Okay, just checking."

But that didn't satisfy him. Even hungry, she'd have protested the word 'sluggish', something about not being an invertebrate. He needed to check with Phlox. "You're meditating, right?" he asked. He assumed she was meditating all the time to conserve energy, he'd never had trouble reaching her in the white space.

"I will be meditating for... another two... point six hours." She thought about adding she needed extended meditating time, her leg was bothering her more than expected.

The hesitancy in her answer confirmed something was wrong. "Good, wait for me, I'll be right back!" and he was gone.

xxx

It was no time before she was back in Trip's white space. There was something different about the view. She looked at it, trying to remember what it was called. She finally turned to him, "A cr... cruise ship?"

That cinched it for Trip, things were way off. "Listen!" he spoke urgently, "I've talked to Phlox, we've had the science team run numbers... Where you are, it's a bubble, right?"

She closed her eyes briefly, mentally calling up an image of the space, "It is shaped like a truncated bubble with accretions of sphygarium on all surfaces."

"And you're at the bottom of it, right?"

"... That is correct."

Her answers were too slow. He spoke even faster, "You need to find some elevation, there's an accumulation of carbon dioxide where you are! That's why you're acting so strange!"

She would have answered that she wasn't acting strange but she was having trouble parsing what he said, so she just raised an eyebrow at him.

"Your team says to find a space at least three meters off the bottom. Can you do that?"

She was trying to understand what he asked.

Her confusion must have shown. "Listen!," Trip was getting frantic, "you need to go up from where you are." He was trying to articulate clearly. "Is there anyplace that's up from where you are?!"

She made an effort to recall, "The truncated portion presents... an inclined plane that leads... to a vertical wall."

A sloping plane, that was good. "Get everyone as far up that slope as you can! Any place you can climb on the wall?!"

T'Pol shook her head. "My ankle..." she wanted to say her ankle hurt but she lost track of the thought.

"You. Need. To. Climb. Remember! Climb. Up. The. Slope." Trip articulated loudly and clearly.

T'Pol nodded, already unsure about what he'd asked.

"Remember! Up! Climb! Slope!" Trip repeated. He needed to leave so she could go do it. "I'll be back in one hour," he finished, wondering how he'd get Phlox to agree to that. And then he was gone.

xxx

T'Pol slowly came out of her meditation. She needed to do something but she was having trouble remembering what. She looked around. On her side the sphygarium was jutting into a large canopy that sheltered the miners. It must be the top of the bubble. On the other side the ground went up at a moderate angle before ending against a vertical cliff.

AB-011-EFT was reclining listlessly on the ground not far from her. Seeing her prone jogged her memory, they needed to find higher ground, the air at the bottom of the bubble was filling up with carbon dioxide. The slope. Trip had said to climb the slope. She got up shakily, hobbled over to UPY-26, who was sitting unsteadily on the ground. "We have to move up the slope."

He looked up at her as if in a daze, "Huh?"

"The air is staler at the bottom. We need to move to higher ground. Tell everyone," she ordered. He was too affected by the toxic gas to protest and meekly got up, staggering towards the other miners.

She waited until they were a critical mass before slowly limping up the slope, looking for a flatter area. She finally stopped, looking behind, trying to fathom if they had achieved the required elevation. She had to blink repeatedly to see the bottom of the bubble. It should have been an easy calculation but she was having trouble with the mental computation. She estimated they were five meters higher, with a variance of plus or minus two meters. She couldn't do better.

She folded into a heap. The other miners followed her lead and dropped wherever they were. She noticed a couple of stragglers further below.

Her thoughts were already starting to clear up. Once she had sufficiently recovered, she would make sure to get them.

* * *

xxx


	12. Chapter 12 Swan Song

xxx

_**Enterprise - Twelve Hours Left**_

"I cannot let you do this, Commander!"

Phlox's voice was reaching all the way to the corridor. Captain Archer sighed, squared his shoulders. Time to step in the sandbox.

He went through the doors just in time to see Trip, bug-eyed, red-in-the-face, facing the doctor on his tiptoes, "I have to do it, Phlox! I don't care about the side effects! I'm the one who ends up throwing his guts up, not you!"

"Gentlemen!" Archer commanded, thinking neither of them qualified for the title.

They hardly threw a glance his way, still caught up in the argument. But Phlox realized he may have an ally and turned to Archer, "These are drugs we're talking about! Chemicals with deleterious side effects! The Commander has already used more than indicated -"

"- That's because they were suffocating down there! There was no choice!" Trip interrupted.

"No less than every five hours, Commander!" Phlox shouted on the same tone, "You were in contact four hours early, and I don't need to remind you how well it went!" He lowered his tone a bit, "You only have to wait two hours more, two hours!"

"It will be too late by then!" Trip was even redder. He turned to Archer, "The science team has rerun the projections, based on the accumulation of carbon dioxide. T'Pol's estimates were off, they've only got eight hours of air left!"

"Commander T'Pol's estimates were accurate," Phlox corrected, "they have ten hours of air left!" He turned to Archer, "But only enough to sustain conscious life for eight hours," he explained. He turned back to Trip, "If you contact her now, you will not talk to her again. I cannot and will not ethically or medically allow it. If you wait another two hours, you can talk to her again five hours later."

"And she'll be unconscious by then! I need to talk to her now!"

Archer had a sudden insight that Trip would insist on talking to her again later no matter what. "Gentlemen!" he exclaimed, a little more forcefully this time. The two men stopped arguing to look at him, neither accepting defeat. Archer rubbed his forehead, feeling the edge of a headache.

"Trip," he started, knowing already how well this was going to go down, "I'm afraid Phlox is right on that one. If you talk to T'Pol now, you won't be able to reach her again, that's a long time without contact, especially as things...," he didn't finish, "but if you wait a couple of hours, then you can talk to her again just before...," his voice trailed off again.

Trip was looking at the ground. Archer couldn't tell what he was thinking. He knew Phlox was right, this was the most rational approach. But Trip might be so exhausted that he couldn't think straight anymore. For all they knew he'd pretend to agree and then do something stupid as soon as Phlox wasn't looking.

He was about to ask how the search was going when without warning Trip knees folded and he went down. Archer just had time to catch his friend before he hit the floor. He looked up at Phlox in shock - "What-?!"

He spotted the hypo in the doctor's hand. Phlox was shaking his head, "He'll hate me for this but he'll only be down a couple of hours. He hasn't slept since the beginning. Humans can become psychotic without enough sleep."

"Help me get him to a biobed, Phlox!" Archer huffed. He himself wasn't too happy with the doctor, right now, it may have been what was best therapeutically but it certainly complicated things. He hoped Phlox had a hiding place when Trip woke up.

* * *

xxx

_**Sphygarium Mines - Two Hours Left**_

"I've been looking all over for you!"

T'Pol struggled to look up, every movement required so much effort. She lifted her head, looked around, "This is... not... your... white space," she panted. The air had grown so thin.

"No," Trip admitted, "I wanted to recreate your space, because..." He swallowed hard. How could he tell her it was because they were going to run out of air soon and he still hadn't found the bubble. He chose to change the subject, "This is as close as I could get to your white space."

She closed her eyes. Talking took a lot of strength, "It is... pleasant to... share... your space."

Trip felt a knot in his throat, he could hardly speak. He nodded silently, instantly bringing back the beach and the sea, the palm trees and the chairs. Except her chair was empty. She was laying on the beach. He fell on his knees next to her. "I won't give up! I'm sorry!"

"There is... nothing to... be sorry... about," she gulped.

He saw her hands had an orange-ish cast to them. "You're running out of air," he said. He'd known they were but now he could see it.

She didn't answer, just looking at the waves, "So... chaotic," she finally said, "how...?"

"I don't know how, I must have remembered an algorithm from chaos theory. You cant believe what sticks in my mind!" he made an attempt to laugh but his voice squeaked instead.

She turned her head slightly to look at him, "Do not... cry, t'hyla..."

He'd been holding back but her entreaty broke through every barrier. He started crying silently, looking at her. "I'm sorry!" he repeated. "I can't... we can't..." They'd been trying so hard, every thirty meters, dozens of probes, nothing went through. She was lost somewhere in the sphygarium lode and he couldn't find her.

Now he was weeping, in great gulping sobs. He couldn't bear to have her see him like that. He couldn't bear to see her like that. He stared at the waves instead. It gave him something to do.

Not two of them were alike. How did he even remember to make waves? His thoughts went back to his classes in chaos theory, his professor stentorous voice filling the auditorium. She was a petite woman with a set of pipes the size of Nebraska. "All bubbles are spherical. Unless they're not." The most efficient shape.

Except T'Pol'd said... The revelation hit him like thunder on a sunny day. "Hold it!" he shouted, looking down at her, trying to see her through his tears, "you said...," he was hiccupping, " you said the bubble was truncated, right?!" It came back as clearly as if she'd just said it. "There's a truncated plane to a vertical wall!" he repeated out loud.

She nodded, "Yes," wondering what had come over him.

How could he have missed it! The bubble! There was interference. Suddenly the answer beckoned, clear as day. He took hold of her hands, turning them over, pressing the too orange palms, "The bubble is stuck against something that's not sphygarium, or it would be perfectly spherical! On two sides!"

She understood what he said but could not follow his deductive reasoning, "I do not... see... the relevance." It was tantalizing close yet hidden. She knew that if only she could breathe, she would understand what he meant.

That brought him to his feet, "Hold on!" he was talking to T'Pol, laying prone on the sand, "Just hold on! It's not over! You have to hang in there! Promise me you'll hang in there!"

She just looked at him silently. They both knew there was no time.

"Hold on!" he repeated, and he was gone.

* * *

xxx

_**Enterprise**_

_'Hold on!'_

Trip was back in Sickbay, staring at Phox's worried face. "How -" The doctor didn't have time to finish, the engineer was already rushing out of Sickbay, "There's no time, Doc!"

There was no time. Trip barged in the transporter room like a bat out of hell, "Travis!" he bellowed, "I know how to find them! Get all the slides we've been looking at! Meet in the command room!" He was already out, running to the command center, looking for the other padds. They were all over, ther were 3D graphs of the lode strata, estimates, and then, as some probes rematerialized in small bubbles, a few actual pictures.

Travis rushed in with a set of padds. "How many frames are there total?!" Trip shouted.

"Three thousand eight hundred and twenty-five!" the helmsman quickly responded.

"Discard everything we've explored until now! Are the technicians still sending probes?"

"Aye, sir! I told them to keep going!"

"Good job!" Trip looked at the visor on the table, holding the slides. "Get the science teams down here!" he told Travis, "We're looking for all the spots were the lode intersects non-sphygarium material. All of them!" He was quickly drawing on the computer, checking the image that was showing up on the main screen. "The bubble is at the intersection of two other material, like this," he drew a vertical line, "and like that," he drew an horizontal slope. "That's what we're looking for! Everything that's not sphygarium! We've been focusing on the sphygarium, the wrong side of the equation!"

Some science members had already entered the room, were nodding in understanding. Trip checked the table chron, a little less than two hours left. He looked around the room, more scientists were streaming in, "We have an hour! We need two teams for confirmation!" That would leave him some time to program the probe.

If they found what he was looking for.

They had to find it. There was no other way.

* * *

xxx

_**Enterprise**_

It was going too slowly and he felt like he was going to throw up. He didn't know if it was the after-effects of the drugs of the stress. Trip banged the table in frustration, making everyone jump and look at him.

"Sorry, just taking too long," he apologized. The scientists bent back to their task. There was nothing they could do to speed up the process. They'd been working in teams, reviewing the slides, using spectrometry to try and identify where the sphygarium ended, going slowly enough that they wouldn't overlook anything. Now they had a subset of eighty-three slides, each showing in rapid succession on the main screen. That was eighty-two slides too many. They were carefully going over each, re-analyzing the data, trying to find the one that showed a slope and a cliff.

Trip had insisted for the slides to show in a continuous loop, confident his engineering mind would see something. It was right there. He knew it. But he couldn't put his finger on it. His engineering mind was deserting him at the worst possible time.

He looked around the room, "Are we missing any slides?!" they all shook their head no, it was somewhere in these eighty-three slides. The chron was ticking away, each second that passed adding to Trip's stress and sense of impending doom.

He kept looking at the slides streaming by, willing one of them to be the one. How was he ever going to tell... Travis walked in to report on the latest set of probes. Trip didn't even need him to, if there'd been a hit they wouldn't be in the command center. He was turning to look at Travis when something caught his eye.

"Hold it!" he shouted, so loudly he made everyone jump, "Hold it!" he shouted again, "The slide! The one that just went through!" They all looked at each other uncertainly. The slides were going so rapidly, there was no way to tell which one it was.

Travis took action, "Let's review the last fifty slides!" He'd just walked in, there was no way more than fifty slides had gone through.

A technician took over the loop, going through each of the last fifty slides. Trip tensed up, wondering if he would see it again, the one detail that had made him jump.

He did.

It was on slide thirty-one. "This one! That's the one! Do you see, if you throw the image on its side, that's where the angle is!" They all craned their necks as one, checking to see what he was seeing. One person did, then another.

"To the transporter room!" Trip shouted. The entire room left at a run.

Trip looked at the wallchron when they rushed in the transporter room. There was no time. Travis was already hollering at the technicians, "Get the probes ready!"

"What depth?" the man at the console asked.

Travis looked at Trip, who was checking the padd. "I'll lay in the coordinates," he said calmly.

* * *

xxx

_**Sphygarium Mines**_

There was almost no oxygen left. T'Pol was panting, trying to remain conscious. Trip had asked her to hang in there, and she wanted to, for him. But breathing was becoming harder and harder. The Nossesseni were more susceptible to the lack of air, they had slowly fallen unconscious. Some had asked her to render them unconscious, which she had done with a nerve pinch.

She had spent the time since in meditation, slowing down all vital systems, minimizing her physiological need for oxygen. But now the needs of her body outweighed her capacity for self-regulation. She could no longer meditate, which increased her needs for oxygen, right at the time when there was less to go around.

Black dots kept creeping up in her field of vision. She too would fall unconscious soon.

She had one more task to do, one last connection to sever before the end.

* * *

xxx

**Enterprise**

Trip was feverishly entering the coordinates for the probe. Their last shot. If this one didn't work, there was nothing else he could think of doing. Travis kept the panel open while Trip keyed in the digits, talking out loud so Travis and everyone within earshot could check he wasn't making any mistakes.

His head suddenly whipped up. He got to his feet, looking up, seeming to stare at nothing.

"Sir?" Travis asked.

"Noooo!" Trip hollered, falling to his knees, "Nooo!"

T'Pol had blocked the bond, the warm space in the back of his head was no longer there. He knew what she was doing. She'd blocked him so he wouldn't feel her die, wouldn't risk the cerebral trauma of that happening.

"No!" he kept shaking his head, keying the coordinates as quickly as he could through his tears, "No!"

* * *

xxx


	13. Chapter 13 --- And Found

**Author's Notes: **We're almost at the end, almost. **Thanks everyone for the reviews. You have inspired me, asked some tough questions, given me some great ideas. **

* * *

xxx

_**Enterprise**_

"Noooo!" Trip shouts again.

The silence in the room is deafening, the scientist crammed in there staring, knowing the worst is happening.

The wallchron keeps ticking. Trip rapidly finishes keying in the coordinates.

Travis takes over to close the side panel while Trip rushes to the command console, almost shoving the technician there out of the way.

Trip looks up at the wallchron, blinking through his tears. Thirty-six seconds since T'Pol blocked him.

"Ready?!" he hollers.

"Ready!" Travis yells and jumps off the transporter pad.

Trip looks at the wallchron. Thirty-eight seconds.

He actions the controls, "Probe launched!"

The probe shimmers and disappears. The wallchron skips to forty-one seconds.

... Forty-two seconds...

Archer has been alerted, rushes in.

... Forty-three seconds...

Trip's praying with all his strength.

* * *

xxx

_**Sphygarium Mine**_

There is a clang, the loud sound of an assembly of wires and parts hitting the ground. The mechanism bounces hard, rebounds again, rolls a few more times and comes to a rest. Noisily.

The sound reverberates loudly in the enclosed space, echoing off the walls in an endless repetition, hitting frequencies that Human ears cannot hear.

But Vulcan ears can. On the ground a form shifts slightly.

Acute hearing is the difference between life and death on Vulcan. Knowing whether one is hearing the displacement of air brushing over the sand or the undulation of a striking la'vern. Vulcan hearing is hard-wired, just like breathing. One must hear and one must breathe for life to succeed.

The noise of the falling probe penetrates the unconscious mind, reaches deep into primitive neurological nodes. Sound is life. Sound is death. T'Pol gasps once, the air is too thin. She is suffocating, there is not enough oxygen to maintain brain functions. But the sound must be attended to.

She looks uncomprehendingly at the probe. Somewhere a memory forms. The vague knowledge that she should know what the device is. She has seen it before. But its name escapes her, its function cannot be remembered.

Except that it is connected to Trip. She reaches out towards it, her hand lifts a little, in a futile attempt. It's still several feet away.

There is not enough oxygen.

Her hand falls. Her head lolls back.

Unconsciousness claims her again.

* * *

xxx

_**Enterprise**_

They wait in silence. Trip is keeping an eye on the wallchron... Fifty-three seconds... How long before the probe rematerializes?

A beep sounds in the silently mourning transporter room, incongruously loud. Trip's head whips up. They all look at the ceiling, wondering what it is they heard.

"What was that?" someone asks. Travis looks fearfully over at Trip - another false positive?

Trip is still as a statue, listening with every fiber of his body. Suddenly a stream of data flashes up on the control console. Images. Yellow things strewn around, hard to see against the yellow background. The computer does the analysis. "Life forms!" Trip yells.

The probe has found life forms!

He would stop and pinch himself if he had the time. He would stop and consider the absolute randomness that has made this final probe the right one, the sheer luck. He would stop and fall on his knees blessing the deities of the universe.

But he doesn't have time.

They've all rehearsed what would happen to the very last detail, even if they believed it would never happen, if they were afraid it would never happen. Now the technicians fall into an easy dance, a well-oiled machine loading the platform with oblong canisters, getting feed lines and supplies.

Trip indexes the pre-formatted command. Down in the sphygarium bubble the back panel of the probe opens. A small canister is pushed out, its release mechanism shorn off. It starts emitting a steady stream of gas. Oxygen. Hundreds of gallons worth. Not enough to revive anyone in the room, just enough to balance the atmosphere out, give them a fighting chance.

Phlox arrives at a run, pushes past Archer, "We've got a reading?"

Trip hardly spares him a glance, he's busy shouting orders right and left, "Edgar, send the canisters of oxygen! Collins, get us a lock, find out how much space." He finally talks to Phlox, "We've got a reading!"

"Can we beam them up?" Phlox asks. He should know the answer, they've been over this many times. The only certain set of coordinates is the one the probe sent back. They can't even dare transport from any other place in the bubble, for fear the of the sphygarium effect. The miners will come back one at a time, from that one precise spot.

Trip shakes his head, "Only one at a time."

Phlox takes two steps to the wall intercom, "Sickbay! Get the stretchers ready, we need thirty oxygen lines!" He looks back at Trip, "Who is going down for the emergency patch?" The first one to transport down will carry a bunch of breathskins, an oxygen band-aid while they painstakingly transport medics for emergency care. Phlox can't go, he'll be needed in Sickbay for triage.

Archer steps up from the crowd, "I am." It's the Captain's job to protect his crew. He'll be the test pilot, the first man on the ground, to check that things are safe for the recovery teams. And he'll be applying the breathskins, to save lives.

"Right here, Captain," a technician hands him the package of breathskins, the other the spacesuit he'll need in the bubble. He leaves to get suited up. Fast.

xxx

The door to the space suit center opens just as he is pulling the first leg on. It is Travis. Somber, broad in the shoulder. "I will go down." He says it with the steely determination that this is how it must be, this is how it will be. He realizes that's the Captain he's talking to, modulates his tone. "Please, sir. I must go down."

Archer stares at him for a few seconds. Travis has been on all the rehearsals, he knows exactly what to do. This will be good training for him to become captain some day. And there's nothing complex as to applying the breathskins, the real medical work will start when they bring the miners back. He nods silently, hands him the breathskins roll and the spacesuit. It will fit well enough.

It is Travis who strides back into the transporter room, putting the helmet on as he takes position on the transporter platform.

He nods his readiness and Trip activates the transporter. He understands. The helmsman has born the guilt of what happened. This is his atonement. No need to say anything.

* * *

xxx

_**Sphygarium Mines**_

A column of air shimmers in the stillness, myriad dots of light solidifying in a space-suited silhouette. Travis checks his surroundings, bodies all around, though concentrated on the slope ahead. He sees the five canisters of gas forming an irregular circle, a couple still standing, spewing out a thin mist of oxygen.

He checks the air composition, not enough yet. The med team will have to suit up. He taps his intercom, "There is enough space for ten stretchers at the time. The air is too thin still, we'll need suits. Proceeding with emergency care."

He rotates the pack of breathskins, thin flexible layers that will cover the victims' faces, infusing oxygen directly in the bloodstream. A band-aid before the med teams show up with the heavy equipment.

The oxygen canisters hiss out the last of the life-saving gas. Travis hits his mike again, "Mayweather to Enterprise..."

Archer's the one who responds, "Enterprise here." Travis imagines the Captain is already back on the bridge, tuned in to everything going on.

"We need more oxygen, air is still not saturated," he checks his monitor again, "but climbing." When the air is saturated, he can take off the suit, move more quickly. Others can join him. They only have so many space suits.

He turns back to the slope and the inert bodies on it. There is no need to check and confirm that more canisters of air are being sent. He had full trust in Enterprise and its crew.

He methodically goes from one inanimate body to the next. Each time, the routine is the same: bend awkwardly in the stiff spacesuit, turn over whoever it is that's lying down, he has no idea in these blindness-inducing yellow suits, almost as bright as the sphygarium itself, quickly slap a breathskin over, move to the next one. He can't tell who went he should go to first, he can only move clockwise in a spiral from where he first landed.

He's hardly paying attention to those he's taking care of. Roll to uncover their face, slap on a breathskin, check that the material forms a complete seal over mouth and nose, move on to the next one. Walk over and repeat. It comes to him that he should have been counting them, to know how many are still in need of his aid. The next one he gets to is on the smaller side. Roll, breathskin, seal.

Something stops him just as he's about to move off. The skin has a bronze hue, different from the Nossesseni. His heart beats faster, he pulls at the suit hood, awkwardly, cursing the spacesuit just a tad on the tight side, but somehow manages to move the fabric away just enough. A pointed ear. It's T'Pol! He shakes her a little, gently. She's a Vulcan, she's supposed to be tougher than that. He knows she's just going to open her eyes and ask him why he's pawing at her.

But she doesn't, and his heart clenches in his chest. He looks around hurriedly, checks the monitor again. The air is still thin but he should be able to stand it. He's in prime health after all. He tears away his helmet, almost chokes, starts panting. Thin air is thin air. But now he can talk to her, "Commander," he shakes her shoulder gently again, "hey, Commander, it's me, Travis!"

Silence is her only reply. He puts the helmet back on, thankful for the huge lungful of air, hits the mike again, "Travis here!"

"Travis!" that's Trip's voice.

"I need back-up!"

"Roger, transporting him over!"

On Enterprise, Travis' backup is already suited up, has been since Travis was first transported down. He steps on the transport pad. He didn't expect he would be called, not unless there was an emergency of some kind. The ensign's air supply must have run out.

He straightens as Trip asks him if he's ready, disappears in a cloud of lights.

Travis hears the whine of the rematerialization, looks back until his backup fully reassembles. He motions for him to come over with the coded gestures of divers. The other man awkwardly climbs the slope until they stand helmet to helmet. Travis hits the internal network switch, "I need to go back. I've taken care of all those below. The next one is right here," he points up and left, not knowing her name is AB-011-EFT. "You should be able to breathe freely in another eight minutes, or you can try now, but it's not pleasant."

"Aye, sir, got it!" the backup proceeds up the slope.

Travis bends over, picks T'Pol up. He can't really see her face anymore because of the helmet and he certainly can't talk to her. That won't do.

The hell with it. He takes a deep breath and releases his helmet, lets it drop off. He knows he shouldn't exert himself in the thin atmosphere, but that doesn't matter. "Travis... to... Enterprise," he pants, "...r...ready... to... beam.. up." God, she must weigh a ton. No wonder Vulcans don't swim very well. But that doesn't matter either. Without his helmet at least he can tell how she's doing.

The medical team is waiting by the transporter platform when he rematerializes with her in his arms. Phlox is busy giving last minute reminders to the medics, stops and freezes, rushes to Travis. Trip is behind the console, his mouth drops open, he too rushes to Travis.

But the helmsman is already at the door. He's breathing hard but that doesn't stop him. "Ill get her to Sickbay!" he says, and walks through. Nobody, but nobody, else gets to carry the Commander back home.

xxx


	14. Chapter 14 Uncontrolled Explosion

xxx

_**Enterprise - Sickbay**_

Phlox is humming to himself as he straightens out the ward. With so many aliens transported first to Enterprise then in quick order to Nossena it's no wonder the place looks like it's been hit by a Denobulan sunstorm!

The song dies in his throat as he picks up the two post-mortem padds, the result of the autopsies he conducted on the two who could not be revived, no matter how hard he and his team fought. He rues the senseless loss of life, the genetic weaknesses that made them slightly more, ever so slightly, susceptible to oxygen deprivation. The bodies have already been transported down to the planet. He'll have to deliver the padds directly to the Counsellor, hope the data can be useful to medical research. He sighs, neatly lays the padds on top of one another.

Now Sickbay is back to being tidy and ready for the next emergency. There's only one patient left. He slides through the privacy curtain of the biobed. She's resting but her eyes are wide open. Her color is better, turning back to healthy green.

"Are you awake?" he asks. Some alien species sleep with their eyes open. Vulcans usually don't but there's always a possibility.

Her eyes grow huge, she doesn't answer and he makes a note to check for mental acuity. "One does not sleep with their eyes open," finally comes the rejoinder. Scratch the note. Obviously everything's in working order.

"You should be sleeping," he remonstrates, "but it looks like you're oxygenating appropriately, your blood pressure has stabilized. We can remove the lines." He gently starts pulling out the tubes snaking into each vein, smiling and talking through the process, "The medknit," he affectionately pats the machine, "is almost done, but it's the second injury. Exact same bones. And you kept walking on it too. It's going to take a little longer -"

"Did everyone survive?" she interrupts him. Of course, she can tell she's all alone in Sickbay.

His smile disappears, "All the Nossesseni have been sent down to Nossena. Almost all. There's two we couldn't revive, KY-77-GRT and AB-011-EFT. Did you know them?"

She blinks briefly, look aside, "I was on the same work detail as AB-011-EFT on a number of occasions, but I only saw her face three days ago. I did not know KY-77-GRT. This was the first time we were working together."

Phlox has a degree in alien psychiatry. He can tell the news is disturbing. That and the spike in the stress monitor. "Was AB-011-EFD -"

"-EFT," she corrects.

"She was a friend of yours?" Phlox purposefully uses emotion-laden language. Nothing better to flush a Vulcan out than raw emotion.

"I do not believe there was such a relationship," comes the answer. She pauses, "She was helpful in resolving our situation... In another reality she might have been a... friend."

That was high praise. Phlox nods , "I grieve with thee." He clears his throat, "You should be able to leave Sickbay in a couple of days."

For once, she does not ask for a reduced timeframe. He understands. After the Sphygarium Mines, even Sickbay must feel like home.

* * *

xxx

_**Enterprise - Crew Quarters**_

'Well done, Ensign.' Travis keeps replaying the words in his mind. Three little words. He's been walking on air since he heard them. Since he stepped out of Sickbay.

He'd stayed there for a few minutes. Phlox and Trip briskly flanked him all the way to Sickbay, once it was clear he wasn't going to let her go. He'd just had time to lay her down on a biobed before Phlox and his team jumped in, almost trampling him in the process. Machines were wheeled in, a body map showing on the head monitor with all kinds of red triangles flashing all over it.

That's when he came out of Sickbay, still in that slightly too tight spacesuit which he wanted to get rid of. And ran smack into Captain Archer. The Captain caught sight of the scene inside Sickbay as the double doors closed, and stopped. Travis didn't have any other choice but to stop as well, Archer looking at him, and him only thinking about getting to the space suit room.

"Well done, Ensign." That's all Archer'd said. But it was like music to Travis' ear. A welcome music worm. He's no longer Travis the fuck-up. He's the one who brought her back. He can stand tall again, feel like he deserves to be part of the crew.

'Well done, Ensign, well done, Ensign, well done Ensign, well done Ensign, well done, Ensign well, done." He keeps declining all possible iterations of the sentence. In the shower, over dinner, as he lays down on his bunk, just before he falls asleep.

Which for the first time in a month, he can do easily.

* * *

xxx

_**Enterprise - Sickbay**_

"Hey, sleepyhead..."

The voice is soft. She's heard this before. She opens her eyes, expecting to be seating on a beach chair, looking at a turquoise blue sea framed by palm trees.

But there is no beach, no chair, no trees. Only Trip, grinning like a fool.

"Who are you referring to as sleepyhead?" T'Pol answers. It feels like they've already done this, he's already asked that question and she's already answered. She is bone-tired, Phlox warned her that would happen.

Through her fingers resting in the palm of his hand Trip knows she is teasing him. She was asleep when he came by to check but Phlox told him she'd been up already once, that she was now working the kinks out of her system.

He can't have enough of her, just looking at her, in the flesh, not a mental projection in a meditative space that he has to be drugged to the gills to reach. Talking about which, he is off-duty for the next day or so, Phlox's not happy about his latest panel, something about needing to regrow his liver. Just a minor annoyance these days, nothing to get excited about.

Still, he's happy to be rid of the nausea. And she looks so much better in person. He can't believe she's back. They can pick up where they left off, forget this awful planet and their Idol. Because she's not going back there, obviously.

"I've missed you," he blurts out.

"I have experienced a longing for your presence also," she replies.

He chuckles. Just in case he'd forgot she's a Vulcan. "Well, it was nice to visit in your white space, - my white space," he corrects himself, "but I'd much rather have you in flesh and bones."

That draws an eyebrow. He's getting really good at this.

"T'hyla…," she starts.

He doesn't know what she's going to say, she falls asleep mid-sentence. Phlox had warned there might be some residual side effects. He settles back in his chair, there's nothing else he needs to do, nowhere else he needs to be, but right here.

* * *

xxx

_**Enterprise - Bridge**_

"A message from Starfleet, Captain," Hoshi half-swivels in her chair to look at Archer.

"In my ready room, Ensign." It must be the brass giving Enterprise their new orders. He's looking forward to getting the hell out of this quadrant. Let the bureaucrats deal with the rest.

True enough, Admiral Martin shows up on his screen. Archer smiles. He tells the story of how Enterprise saved twenty-seven Nossesseni in trouble, great for public relations, more goodwill all around.

But the Admiral has a different story.

"Are you fucking kidding me?!" Archer roars, enraged.

Admiral Martin sighs. Why, oh why, does it have to be him stuck in this role? He softens his voice, hoping to somehow appeal to the man's reason. It must be somewhere in there, well hidden.

Too well hidden apparently. This time, the Admiral is pissed. And it is not often that Admiral Martin loses his temper. He stands up from his desk, plants both fists on the desk, leans over them as if he's coming straight through the screen. "Captain Archer!" he bellows. He can almost hear all motion cease in the corridor out his office. People must be scurrying away as fast as they can. "You are close to insubordination!" Actually, technically, Archer's already reached that point. "This is not a school yard! And you are not free to say whatever goes through your mind! Starfleet needs captains who can maintain decorum in all situations! Or do you want to resign your commission?!"

That has the desired effect. Somewhat. Archer visibly cools off by one degree. Martin will take it. He's still shaking with rage, though. He points an accusatory finger at the screen. "This is not about you! It's about Nossena! This is about the United Federation of Planets! It's about the future, a future that will make us stronger! Do you pretend to be the man who stands in the way of the future?!" Notwithstanding that even if he were, he would be steamrolled by larger interests.

Archer sets his mouth, shakes his head 'no'. He'd better not say anything or he'll really get in trouble. Last thing everyone needs is to have Enterprise under someone else's command.

There's a bitter taste in his mouth.

* * *

xxx

**_Enterprise - Sickbay_**

Trip is still by T'Pol's bedside when Captain Archer walks in. She's once again awake and they've been talking sphygarium and reversion and bubbles. The language of love, in their world.

He sees the Captain nod at Phlox, who's not smiling. Trip takes notice, it's so rare to see the good doctor without a face-breaking smile. He wonders if there's been some kind of communication between the two. Hopefully nothing to do with T'Pol's health. Or Phlox would already have told him.

Trip makes to stand but Archer waves him back down with his hand. The Captain's uncharacteristically somber. Perhaps because two of the Nossesseni died, though Phlox said it was a question of sex and age.

Archer parks himself at the foot of the biobed, "Commander T'Pol, it's nice to see you back with us, even for a short while."

Trip looks at Archer dumbfounded, "What do you mean 'even for a short while'?"

T'Pol doesn't say anything but raises an imperious eyebrow, clearing asking for an explanation.

It is to her the Captain talks, "Nossena has been in communication with Starfleet and the Federation. They insist that you be returned there to complete your sentence."

"Are you kidding me?!" Trip exclaims, jumping off his chair. Has Jonathan lost his mind?!

Again, Archer doesn't answer him. "They agreed to wait a few days until you're fully healed," he goes on, "and as a gesture of goodwill they will not deduct the time you spend here from the time you've already served."

"Are you fucking kidding me?!" Trip roars. "This is freaking insane! Did everyone lose their mind?!"

"Commander!" Archer shouts back at Trip, "You're close to insubordination!" Archer is in a foul mood and he doesn't mind taking it off on his chief engineer.

"Insubordination, my ass! I can't believe you're standing here telling us this! After what she went through! And she saved those goddam Nossesseni with her! Without her they'd all be dead! And good riddance too! She's not going back!"

"Your language, Commander, this is not a school yard! You're not free to say whatever goes through your mind!" Actually, what Trip says is tame compared to the way Archer went off on Admiral Martin.

"The hell I'm not! Do you know what you can do with -"

"Trip!" T'Pol's voice interrupts from the biobed. She looks at the Captain, "I am sure Captain Archer has already deliberated over the situation."

Oh yes, indeed, if you can call a blue stream of curses a form of deliberation. "Trust me, this is the last thing I want. But we have the United Federation of Planets and Starfleet and the Federation... -"

"- And nobody's going to stand up to Nossena, right?!" Trip interrupts.

"They all agree this is wrong, but nobody's about to buck the accession of Nossena to the Federation." Even him. He wonders if that makes him a coward, if he should have stuck with it and stand in the way of the future. But he doesn't see how he could have done otherwise. He's Starfleet, and his loyalty lies with the Federation.

"Why does Nossena care? She's just one lone person, and she saved their own people! This is unfair!" Trip explodes again.

"Their point is that they already commuted your death sentence into a very light punishment, to release you so soon would make a mockery out of their institutions," Archer talks to T'Pol, ignoring Trip. "I'm sorry. I wish I could make it otherwise," he finishes.

"I understand " T'Pol replies.

"You understand?!" Trip is besides himself, "You understand?! Well I certainly don't!" he snaps. He turns to Jonathan, "Remind them they'd lost thirty people without her! But I guess they dont care, these were only prisoners! Perhaps tell them their sentences would have been shortened if she hadn't been there! Since that's all they care about!"

"Trip" T'Pol interrupts. "The interests at play are bigger than any of us. The good of the many —

"Fuck Surak!" He responds harshly, "And fuck you too! You want to go back to jail, be my guest! But don't count on me to find you again!" Trip's face is beet red. He stomps out of Sickbay, leaving the two of them shell-shocked.

* * *

xxx


	15. Chapter 15 Idol v Idol

xxx

_**Enterprise - Officers' Quarters**_

Trip looked at the chron, then at the door. It was well past ten and T'Pol still wasn't there. Perhaps she'd been held back...

Yeah, right. Like that was the case.

He'd gone right back to Sickbay within hours of his meltdown, to apologize, tell her how sorry he was. She had haughtily accepted his apology, at least on the surface. But the bond was reverberating with a new feeling, that he'd finally pegged as unspoken anger. He'd gone back to Sickbay twice since, to check on her progress, tried to help when she first put weight on her ankle. She refused his assistance. And she only talked to him in monosyllables, avoiding looking at him while he kept pretending everything was back to normal.

So, fine, he was in the dog house again. Not like he hadn't been there a thousand times before.

That's what he tried to tell himself. But this time it felt different. The bond felt different, tense, almost like a tension headache begging to come out. And now she hadn't come back to their quarters.

And she was being shipped out to Nossena in the morning. She wasn't going to go back down there without seeing him, without saying goodbye, right? It didn't seem possible. They were bonded after all. Who'd ever heard of spouses not saying good-bye before a long absence? Somehow the answer didn't make him feel better.

She had to recognize he'd accepted her and Archer's rationale: Nossena'd already bent backward as far as it could go; this was only five months in the hole; the Federation was still growing and they needed all the members they could get; Nossena could prove to be a worthwhile member; etc. He knew all the arguments. Didn't make it any more right in his book. Five more months was five months too many. The least those jerks could have done was cut her sentence back, perhaps one day per life saved. Perhaps one week per life saved. Ah!

All he was doing was getting himself riled up again. That didn't make her be any more there. Again the thought came that perhaps she was held back in Sickbay. He clung to that hope like a drowning man to a buoy. Yeah, that's where ahe must be. He went to get her..

* * *

xxx

**_Enterprise - Sickbay_**

Phlox looked at him with a guarded look, his smile half as wide as usual. Trip's outburst had been partly due to the lack of sleep, partly to how the drugs affected Trip, and the doctor was ready for a repeat. The man still hadn't caught up on his rest and it was too early for the drugs to have flushed out of his system.

"Is T'Pol here?" Trip asked, already knowing the answer. He could have pretended he was there for another reason but good luck getting that past Phlox.

"Commander T'Pol is back in her quarters, resting," Phlox replied. He eyed Trip meaningfully, "She asked not to be disturbed." They both knew who that was addressed to.

Trip passed a hand through his hair, "Well, yes, huh, I'll get going then, I guess."

Phlox nodded thoughtfully, seemed to stare intently at his computer, "Surak is an idol for Vulcans, you know."

"Yeah, yeah, I know," Trip mechanically replied, wondering why Phlox was bringing that up. He remembered in a flash, felt himself flush, "That wasn't my best moment, ya know..."

Phlox nodded, "I believe we all can attest to that."

Trip wasn't sure what to say. "Yes, well...," he turned around to leave.

Phlox's voice floated over him, "I agree you should try to fix things before she leaves."

Trip half-turned back to him, "I was just... I was," he realized the doctor'd guessed he'd been planning to go see her all along. "Thanks, Doc!" he said, and left.

* * *

xxx

**_Enterprise - T'Pol's Quarters_**

"Ya know, I'm not going away 'til you open!" Trip says, not too loud. He's been waiting in front of her door for five minutes now. She knows he's there, and he knows she can hear him through the door.

When nothing happens for another five minutes, he tries again, "I'm getting some mighty curious stares from crew members. I bet there's a pool going on about when you'll let me in."

That has the desired effect. Privacy's one of her hot buttons. The door opens but she's blocking the way.

"Can I step in?" he asks, "We can talk in the hall but everybody'll hear us."

T'Pol reluctantly steps aside so he can come in. The room hasn't changed much from when she packed to move in with him. It's sparse, desolate, without any decoration. But he guesses that next to a jail cell it's still high luxury. He suddently feels guilty.

"So you're going tomorrow," he lamely says.

"A shuttle will be coming from Nossena," she agrees. She's still not looking at him. He's suddenly reminded about when he left for the Columbia. She didn't come say good-bye then. He has the sudden insight that she may well leave him when this ordeal is over.

"Are they sending you back to the Sphygarium Mines?" he asks. How d'you ask someone if they're planning to leave you? He knows there must be a hundred other things he should say but he can't think of any. All he can think about is small talk. Not that the question's small talk, he's argued with Archer that it's cruel and unusual punishment, that they can't send her back there.

"I do not know," she turns away from him, goes to her desk, walking with a slight limp, busies herself looking around for mementos. As if she can bring anything with her down there.

"Your leg, it's okay?" he asks.

"My leg is healing, " comes the reply. She turns to look at him, "Do you have any other question? If you do not, I suggest you leave." She doesn't even act angry. Or annoyed. Or any of the ways he's gotten really good at reading. She's a blank slate, and the bond is rigidly cold, except for that weird vibration he's not used to.

To him, that's a sign something's off, "I'm not leaving, not with you in that state -"

"I am not in a state!" she sharply cuts him off. She closes her eyes, obviously centering herself. When she opens them again it's as if she's looking at him from far away, "When I come back, I plan to resign my commission and move back to Vulcan."

Even though he kind of guessed, the news hits him straight in the gut, leaving him out of breath, seeing the shards of his life crashing all around. "You can't do that!" he exclaims. And is aware that's probably not what he should have said.

Her nostrils flare slightly. Her eyes become huge. He would take a step back except he's already at the door. He could swear she's doubled in size, "Are you proposing to direct what I can and cannot do?!"

Of all the times for cultural misunderstandings. He shakes his head 'no' three times in rapid succession, "No, no, no, that's not what I mean." He sighs, passes a hand in his hair, really, they're going to be hung up on some meaningless phrasing now? "It means, no, I mean I don't want you to do that, you can't just throw your life away like that!"

"Going to Vulcan is throwing my life away?" if her tone was cold before, it could now freeze Mount Selaya.

He's pleading now, "Why d'you want to go? Is it because of me? I said I was sorry! I swear, it was the drugs, Phlox told you already. That and the lack of sleep!"

She shakes her head once, briefly. "It is not because of you. Not entirely," even now, she has to be honest, "but I have come to realize being here takes me away from Vulcan's values."

"Then I'll come with you!" he means it but he's also said that as a test, see how she reacts.

"You would not appreciate it there." The tone is cold and dry. She's taken his opening and slammed it shut in his face.

If they had all the time in the world, he'd have more time to apologize, to plead his case, more opportunities to talk her out of it, to let her calm down. But she's leaving tomorrow, and then five months alone in that hole - she will come back and leave him forever. He has to stop her, has to find a way to reach her. "If you go to Vulcan you'll leave everything behind, and everyone! Forget about me! Enterprise, the crew members, your friends, everyone! They all rely on you! They need you!" he's desperately pleading, throwing all the arguments he can think of in the ring.

She remains ice cold, "Now you're claiming the good of the many outweighs the good of the one?" Contempt underlines every word. A cold fury.

And that's when Phlox's words come back to him, in a brilliant epiphany '_Surak is an idol for Vulcans'_. All of a sudden he sees the pattern. Actually what's surprising is that she didn't see it, doesn't see it.

He passes a hand through his hair, let if fall at his side, sighs a deep breath. Then he says, really simply, "Ya know, you're doing the same thing the Nossesseni are."

She turns to him and once again he has the urge to take a step back. How does she do that? She is outraged, in a very cool understated Vulcan way, "I am not doing the same thing as the Nossesseni." If she were Human she would end with a flourish, 'How dare you compare me to them!' But she's a Vulcan, it's the eyebrows that pin him with her indignation.

"You're not?!" he rolls his tongue in his cheek, "You don't think you are? Look at you. You lay a hand on their idol and they want to kill you; I say something about Surak - okay, I shouldn't have, - and you're ready to severe your ties to Enterprise, to Kill our relationship, you talk about going back to Vulcan without me. Tell me how that's not the same?"

Talk about a home run. He actually sees her eyes shrink a little. She blinks a few times, falls silent, obviously thinking. Then she takes a step back, turns away from him.

He moves forward. "I've apologized, I've told you I was sorry, I'd do anything to take it back. What else do you want from me?!" It's a real question, straight from the heart. If she tells him what she needs to forgive him, he'll do it. That's all he cares about right now.

She looks straight at him, like she hasn't in days, "Your statement... it's logical... I... I need to..." She needs to parse the insult to Surak from his run-of-the-mill shoot-my-mouth-off temper, realize he wasn't fully in control of his faculties at the time, that it's not the first time he's blown up at her, give to Surak what belongs to Surak and to Trip what belongs to Trip, and then figure out if she is indeed acting in the same way as the Nossesseni.

He's never seen her at a loss for words before. Well, not that often. He walks over and wraps her in a hug, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean anything I said. Just my mouth running off on me. I'm sorry. I love you. Please forgive me."

She stiffens at first before slowly relaxing in his arms. She's done with her analysis. He can tell she's not angry anymore, at least not the way she was. The bond feels back to normal, without that tense vibration that threatened to give him a headache.

His mouth is in her hair, just above her ear. He could easily blow on the tip and awaken other feelings. But that's not what he wants, it's not how he wants to spend these last hours. He's already thrown her a curved ball that changed her mind, this would be too much like a victory lap. Unless she takes the reins and then he'll happily be her love slave.

He gently blows on her hair, puts his lips close to her ear, "I just want to be with you tonight. And every other night. But tonight, let's just be together, you and I. We don't have to go back to our quarters." He understands her old quarters is where she feels more comfortable right now, a grounding place from where she can consider another five months of hard labor.

The morning finds them wrapped in each other's arms, fully clothed, still talking. They suddenly realize it's almost time for her to leave Enterprise. They tear each other's clothes off and make love with the desperation of those soon to be deprived.

* * *

xxx


	16. Chapter 16 Jail Redux

**_Author's notes: this is the next to last chapter. I need to post the last chapter by Saturday because I will be out of town for a while. Thanks for all the comments, thanks for reading, hope you like the ending._**

* * *

xxx

_**Enterprise - Airlock**_

The mood on Enterprise is somber.

Archer and Trip are standing stiffly, T'Pol between them in one of her usual unisuits. They're in dress uniform. Archer wants to visually impress on the Nossesseni the respect due their crew member.

Lieutenant Reed is flanking their left, two of his security guards on each side of the airlock. There are days when he wishes he could go rogue. He mentally pictures the Nossesseni coming out of the airlock, he grabs a grenade, throws it inside, while his people neutralize the Nossenean party. The Counsellor's shuttle is destroyed and Enterprise warps away at top speed. And then what? That's where the fantasy ends. It wouldn't serve anyone's interests.

Phlox is to their right and a step behind, his medcorder at the ready. He checked again just a couple of minutes ago but there is no medical issue that would allow him to stop this charade.

On the bridge Travis is down in the dumps again. Even if Archer's left him in charge, telling him the main thing is they found her and the rest doesn't count, they came close to losing their Commander on Nossena.

Hoshi's listening in on the approaching shuttle, she would like to claim this is not Enterprise but that'd be hard to pull off at this distance, the shuttle can clearly see the saucer with the starship's name. She relays that the shuttle is asking permission to dock. She wishes Captain Archer refused it.

They've only got a couple of minutes left. Archer looks at his Commanders. The engineer looks like he hasn't slept all night, even if he seems somewhat relaxed. T'Pol's her usual perfectly put together self. Archer finds himself wishing he too could have a little of that preternatural calm. Without becoming a Vulcan, of course.

He talks to her, attempting reassurance, "This is only temporary, Commander."

"I am aware of the temporal nature of the sentence." Her tone's curt. Trip shoots him a sour look.

Archer thins his lips. Not that he can expect any of them to be thrilled about it.

xxx

Several loud clangs announce that the Nossenean ship bringing the Counsellor has docked. Two armed Nossesseni step out to face the two security officers. The Counsellor comes out next. He takes a deep breath and looks around before walking to the Captain.

"I am sorry about this, Captain," he says.

Archer nods bitterly, "No more than I am," he straightens up, "but our respective organizations pull the strings. The Federation is looking forward to Nossena as a member." A not-so-subtle reminder just in case the Counsellor forgot that's the only reason he's going along with this.

The Counsellor nods, "And Nossena is looking forward to joining the Federation, Captain. I will be leading the talks myself." He turns to talk to the guards.

"Counsellor!" Archer stops him with a hand on his harm.

The Counsellor smoothes his facial features so as not to show his irritation. What else does that Human Captain want, now? "Captain?"

"We request to see Commander T'Pol on Nossena before she is sent on site," Archer's tone is calm. He's not debating what must happen, no matter how angry he is about it, but he doesn't want to find out after the fact, like last time. And he's holding out the hope perhaps they won't send her back to the sphygarium mines.

The counselor attentively looks at him, then he nods, "I will make sure you do, Captain." He turns back to the guards, "You can proceed."

They walk over to T'Pol and one of them takes a pair of restraints out.

Archer pales, "Not on my ship!" He shakes his head, "Not on my ship," he repeats.

The Counsellor hesitates, stares at Archer. He tells the guards, "Restraints won't be necessary." He turns to T'Pol, "Commander, if you will join me..."

She inclines her head and follows him back to the airlock, hands behind her back, her limp is so subtle as to be easily dismissed. The Nossenean guards fold in after them and they are gone. She is gone.

Trip just stares at the closed airlock door, jaw working. Reed calls his people back, leaves with a last look at Trip. He knows how much his friend must be hurting, it tore his heart off to see her go away like that. He only hopes the guards didn't put on restraints as soon as she boarded the shuttle.

* * *

xxx

_**Nossena - Jail**_

One of the guard opens the door and walks in, the other remains behind her. T'pol stops on the threshold of the cell. It is the same cell she was held in before the sphygarium mines. There are bad memories associated with this cell. She blinks nervously, checks if the guards are donning gloves. But these are the Counsellor's guards, not the jail's, and they do not seem to present a danger.

One of the guard leaves and the other stays behind. She tenses up again. Her previous encounters with Nossenean guards and wardens warrant her being on high alert. The guard fishes for something in his pocket, and she assumes a rod of some kind. She watches his every move while she tries to prepare mentally, even though there is very little time. The guard pulls his hand out of his pocket. She holds her breath.

He is holding a circular disk. Her first thought is that this must be some type of Nossenean torture device. Her second thought is that this conflicts with the Starfleet logo on the disk. She looks at the guard, eyes wide. "This is Starfleet material?" she seeks confirmation.

"I tried to deliver it last time," the guard replies, "but you were already gone." He hands her the disk. She blinks as she takes it, she will need additional meditation time tonight. At the same time, lightning-fast, she assesses the situation. The man waited for his colleague to leave before he handed her the disk. This indicates he doesn't want any witnesses. Possibly because he failed to deliver it previously.

She sees an opportunity, seizes it. Based on what she has experienced of Nossenean culture, there is a forty percent chance that her audacity will engender some kind of physical retribution. It is a risk she is willing to take. "There was a Nossenean woman in the bubble, AB-011-EFT. She died. Could you tell me the reason for her imprisonment?"

To increase her chances for successful resolution, she adds, "This will remain between us," so that he understands this is an exchange. Her silence against the information.

The guard says nothing, stares at her.

She stares back at him, projecting the authority of someone who helped save the lives of twenty-seven Nossesseni.

Finally he nods, "Ill see what I can do."

* * *

xxx

_**Enterprise - Bridge**_

Hoshi turns to the Captain. "Call from the Counsellors office, sir!" You can hear the excitement in her voice. Everyone knows they're waiting to see T'Pol before she is sent away. It's been a full day already.

"In my ready room, ensign!" Archer can't help but feel hopeful. But it shouldn't have taken so long and that means the Counsellor could be calling to let him know she's been sent away already, like last time.

A few minutes later the intercom chimes, "Commander Tucker to the ready room!"

Trip rushes over. "So what's going on?" he asks as soon as the door swooshes shut.

Archer waves him to a chair. "The counsellor—," he stops, starts again, "We are invited to a banquet to celebrate the application of Nossena as a member of the Federation."

"Say what?!" Trip looks at him incredulously.

"We are invited to a banquet on Nossena," Archer repeats.

"That's what I thought you said," Trip replies, "You must be kidding?!" Once again he feels like the top of his head is about to blow up.

Archer sighs. "I'm not kidding. Nossena's throwing a banquet to celebrate their application for admission in the Federation, or something like that, they've invited us, and we're going." He doesn't even have to check with Admiral Martin on that point.

"First they take T'Pol away and the next day they want us to celebrate?!" Trip almost chokes on the words. "You know what they can do with heir celebration?"

"And I'm sure you'll keep that to yourself," Archer admonishes. "We're asked to participate as representatives of Starfleet and the Federation. Independently of what happened with T'Pol. This is just another diplomatic function, like many we've attended."

"Except we've never been wined and dined while one of ours languishes in their jail!" Trip shakes his head, "Don't they get that we may not exactly want to celebrate?! And certainly not with them?! I'd rather they saved us the favor!"

"Well, they didn't and we've got to go. End of discussion," Archer's getting tired of Trip arguing with him.

"Why don't you take Lieutenant Reed with you?" Trip asks. That'd be a great idea.

"Because," Archer's patience is wearing thin, "they didn't invite just any two officers from Enterprise, they invited Captain Archer and Commander Tucker. We're going to put our dress uniforms on, a smile on our face, and make believe it's all good. Because that's what we have to do. And..." Archer stops talking.

"And?" Trip presses him.

"And the Counsellor said we could see her after the festivities. So we put on a good face, and we get to see her before they farm her out to God knows where. Got it?"

"You could have said that first," Trip grouses. He doesn't know how he's convincingly going to participate to the festivities, but if that means he gets to see T'Pol, he's going to give it his all.

* * *

**xxx**

_**Nossena - Jail**_

She knows a whole day has passed by the number of meals served. She has read the message Archer sent her, read it again, and again. If she had known about it, would it have made a difference? She cannot tell.

Except that she remembers the doubts that assailed her daily, about whether Trip was steadfast in the bond, whether she was the unknowing victim of a conspiracy involving Starfleet, the Federation and Vulcan. Her doubts were fed by the lack of meditation but had their origin in the lack of communication.

Yes, it would have been preferable for her to have the message, to know she was not the unwitting victim of an Enterprise-wide plot, that they hadn't left her, that they were in the Nossena quadrant, keeping an eye on her. To know that Trip was waiting for her to contact him. Instead of thinking he was separated by time and space. Her mind goes back to their night together before she left. She recalls the scene with total clarity.

_She expresses her worry that six months is a blink of an eye in a Vulcan's life but Humans do not live as long, that it would be too long for him to wait. She tells him she does not want to prevent his life from moving forward._

_Trip laughs out loud. He turns to her, holding her face in his hands, "Darling, even if it were six years, sixty years, six hundred years, I would wait for you."_

_She frowns, "It is illogical to think one can be alive for six hundred years when one's life span is one hundred years, for Humans, to three hundred years, for Vulcans."_

_That makes him laugh even harder, though she cannot understand why, "I was just making the point, darling, that I'll be right here, waiting for you," he chuckles, "Not trying to find someone else to rebuild my life with." He shook his head, "Really, that's what you thought? Let me ask you, then, what if I went to jail for sixty years, what would you do?"_

_That draws an indignant eyebrow, "Vulcans mate for life. The only way to severe the bond is through a priest at Mount Selaya. Unless you asked for the bond to be severed, and you being in jail would present a sizeable impediment in that regard, I would wait for you."_

_"See!" Trip exclaims, "Why should it be different for me?! And don't give me any mathematical ratio, six months is also the blink of an eye in a Human's life!"_

_He finally convinces her that he will be there, even if she is not able to meditate fully in the jail environment, even if she can't reach him in the white space. Instead he will ask Phlox to give him the drugs again. Her adamant protestation that it is bad for his health is met with a stubborn streak a mile wide. She knows there is no getting through that particular obstinacy, he will find access to the drugs, even if he has to pester the good doctor off Enterprise. She insists it be no more often than every two weeks. She may not be able to convince him otherwise but she can at least aim to minimize the physiological damage._

The day has passed and she needs to meditate. She will try to reach the higher plane that allow her to make contact with Trip. But even if she is not able to, she is serene in the knowledge he hasn't left her, will not leave her.


	17. Chapter 17 Release

_**Nossena - Jail**_

T'Pol stares at the door. She has had no visitors since she was brought in. She knows it is morning based on the amount of time elapsed between the food packet that was just delivered and the one before that. Extrapolating from the sequence of events that took place last time, guards should soon come to retrieve her. Hopefully she will see Trip or Captain Archer first. The Counsellor did agree to the Captain's request.

The quality of her meditation last night was better, though still not sufficient to reach the white space. Once she is sent back to the sphygarium mines, she will have to increase the time spend meditating.

The sound of steps resonates down the narrow corridor and she gets up expectantly. The door opens on the guard who delivered the message. He is alone.

He gestures for her to sit back down. "The one you inquired about, AB-011-EFT," he starts, "She was doing time for violation of computer policy." He is reading directly from his padd, "Life sentence, commuted to eight years of hard labor." He looks up for her reaction.

"I thank you for your assistance," T'Pol replies, "I have no other questions."

"Then we're done," he nods and is gone.

She paces around the cell, thinking. What started as a remote possibility is now close to a certainty. She needs to inform Archer.

* * *

xxx

_**Nossena - High Chamber**_

Once again, the shuttle lands on the private pad of the High Chamber building. The Counsellor's waiting for them with some staff members. The Starfleet party comes out, stiff in their dress uniforms, including the two armed guards that Lieutenant Reed took along. Reed would not let them come down without an armed escort, not after what happened last time.

The Counsellor is all smiles, "Welcome, Gentlebeings, welcome!" He pauses meaningfully as he salutes Lieutenant Reed.

Archer picks up on it. "Starflet regulations," he says, "the captain cannot leave the Enterprise unaccompanied."

The Counsellor looks uncertainly at Trip and Archer is suddenly reminded he's used the same excuse to bring Trip along. "Different regulation," he smoothly covers, "an armed escort must be present when the captain is acting in a representative capacity for the Federation." Let the Counsellor try to figure it out. He quickly goes on, making a mental note to keep his covers better organized next time, "I hope that's not an issue."

The Counsellor's nodding energetically, "Of course not, Captain, they are most welcome to our celebration."

That sounds ambiguous to Reed, who has nightmarish visions of a banquet with the Enterprise party as the main course. He increases his level of awareness, mentally rehearsing drawing his phaser.

"And after that, we can meet with Commander T'Pol?" Trip asks. He's not about to let the Counsellor forget.

"Ah, about that… there's been a slight change of plans," the Counsellor replies. Archer tenses up. There's a sharp intake of breath from Trip. "Actually, you will be able to see her before the banquet," the Counsellor goes on, unaware of their upset.

Archer and Trip relax at first but their mood darkens again. So they're going to see her before she's sent away and then have to pretend they're enjoying a meal? They exchange glances.

The Counsellor notices, "Is everything all right?" he asks. He mistakes the cause of their concern. "Not to worry, Captain," he smiles broadly, "We're not going to the Holy of Holies. We've learned our lesson. Aliens are no longer admitted in the sanctuary. The ceremony will be held here in the High Chamber," he finishes with a smile.

That only increases Reed's misgivings. He discreetly nods to the security men to fan out and ensure maximum coverage.

* * *

xxx

_**Nossena - Jail**_

It is the end of the day. And still nobody has come for her. Could Enterprise have left on its next mission already?

Based on how expeditiously the Nossesseni handled her previous sentencing, it should not take so much time for her to be sent to the Sphygarium Mines.

The delay combined with the harsh Nossenean justice is a cause for concern. She finds herself hoping they are not reneging on the arrangement.

She hears footsteps coming down the corridor, more than one this time. She looks at the door, waiting.

The footsteps stop at her door. They are coming for her. She gets up from the cot while the lock is released.

* * *

xxx

_**Nossena - High Chamber**_

They're back in the High Chamber building, in the meeting room with the carved chests. There's about fifty people in there, in groups of two or three, all of them came to salute the Enterprise party before breaking out in smaller groups, talking to each other.

Archer expects the Exalted Leader will come in next. He's starting to wonder when the Counsellor will bring them over to see T'Pol. Next to him, Trip is shuffling his feet, nervously blowing his cheeks out, hardly paying attention to the conversation. Archer would kick him but that would be too obvious. He keeps up their side of the conversation for the two of them, waiting for the opportunity to bring up meeting with T'Pol.

Besides him Reed is coiled like a spring, twitching at the slightest noise or shadow. Archer sighs inwardly. He can't blame the security man for being on his guard. Actually, he's glad he brought Reed along, he doesn't have the head space to be suspicious of his surroundings.

The thought strikes him that once they've met with T'Pol, he may not be able to keep Trip in line. The engineer doesn't suffer this kind of self-congratulatory event very well. He'll have to order him to behave.

There's a lull in the conversation and he jumps in, "When are we going to the Detention Center?"

The Counsellor blinks, "The Detention Center?"

"You mentioned we would see T'Pol before the banquet," Archer reminds him.

"Ah, yes, of course, but we are not eating for a while yet! There's plenty of time," the Counsellor smiles a smile intended to be reassuring.

Reed balances of the balls of his feet. These people are up to no good. He can smell it.

The clamor of trumpet-like instruments cuts through the hall. All conversations stop, everyone turning towards the same side of the room. Archer and the Enterprise party do likewise.

The Herald comes out, walks to the center of the hall, and bows to each corner with the same loud call, "Nossesseni! Here comes your Exalted Leader! Bow to him who leads you!"

The enormous hall goes silent as the Nossesseni plunge in deep bows while the Enterprise party remains standing.

Archer's a little nervous that not bowing could be another criminal offense on this world. They know so little about Nossena. The Federation is expanding at breakneck speed, not looking too closely at those who request membership. One of those new civilizations could even be worse than the Romulans or the Klingons.

But the Romulans and the Klingons are an existential danger to Earth and Vulcan, and one cannot look too closely at one's potential allies when in need of help. He can only hope they won't have any reason to be sorry for it.

* * *

xxx

_**Nossena - Jail**_

For the second time she is walking down an endless corridor, in the middle of a bevy of armed guards. Another endless corridor at the end. But instead of more turns and more corridors, they stop in front of a large door, large enough for vehicles. A black bag is put over he head. She would resist but her hands are chained to her waist, there is not much she can do.

She knows from the shift in temperature that they've stepped outside. This is highly unusual. She is guided onto a ramp. The shift in gravity tells her they're moving. Perhaps a shuttle, there are no jolts and bumps or sounds that would indicate a ground vehicle. She has no idea where they are taking her. She thinks of reaching out to Trip, hesitates. It might be a wiser choice to block the bond until one knows what lies ahead. She waits, unable to decide.

She is aware of her heart beating faster. She blinks reflexively, even though she cannot see through the black cloth. As wide as she makes her eyes, she still can't see through. Her heart is beating hard and fast in her lower right side. She's afraid for her life.

The vehicle stops, she is dragged outside again. The sudden warmth tells her they're back inside a building. The guards around her are silent. It would not be a good idea to ask them for explanations. She knows first-hand of Nossessa's brutal justice. Perhaps they have decided to make her disappear without anyone knowing.

* * *

xxx

_**Nossena - High Chamber**_

Fortunately there has been no reaction to their not bowing. It seems the Nossesseni are already adjusting to alien ways.

The Exalted Leader steps onto a dais, his gaze moving over the assembly before it stops on the Enterprise party. He nods and the Counselor prods them forward, making them step out of the crowd. Reed and his men fall behind, ready to defend against an attack from the back. Archer and Trip can handle the front.

The Counsellor bows to the Exalted Leader, excuses himself to Archer, and disappears in a backward walk.

The Exalted Leader nods to the Herald, whose job it is clearly to do all the talking. Trip can't help thinking how inefficient T'Pol would find this. That sets him to brooding again. Trapped here listening to some endless speech while all he wants to do is see her. The Herald's voice is so loud, it is difficult to do anything but listen.

"Alien Humans of Earth! Representatives of the United Federation of Planets! It is our Exalted Leader's wish that Nossena pursue a closer relationship with the Federation. We reach out to you across our differences, looking to what can make us stronger together. But to become stronger, we have to erase what makes us weaker. The Alien T'Pol of Vulcan made us weaker when she compromised the Nossenean bond with the Idol."

Trip swallows nervously. He glances at Archer, whose jaw is set. He would like to glance at Reed, make sure the Englishman is ready to act. This is not sounding good.

The Herald is still talking, "The Federation made Nossena stronger when it recognized the supremacy of Nossenean law on all things Nossenean. The weakness was dealt with. Nossena was strong again." The Herald waits while the assembly finishes nodding their agreement.

He resumes speaking, "The sphygarium made Nossena weaker when it threatened the lives of Nossesseni citizens because mining practices hurt it. That will be dealt with." The Exalted Leader is looking directly at one of the Nossesseni present in the room, who pales visibly.

The Herald goes on, "The Alien T'Pol of Vulcan made Nossena stronger when she saved the lives of twenty-nine Nossesseni from the sphygarium."

There is a murmur in the room. Apparently not all were aware of this development. Archer raises a hand in a bid to quell the noise. He wants to hear what the Herald has to say next.

"The Alien T'Pol of Vulcan made us weaker and then she made us stronger. Some say the two cancel each other out. Others ask if abuse of the Idol may ever be forgiven? We hold it cannot be. And it will not be." The Herald stops speaking. The Exalted Leader looks meaningfully over the assembly.

Trip and Archer look at each other. What does that mean? Trip feels like he's been on an emotional rollercoaster. It sounded bad for T'Pol, then good, now back again. What are the Nossesseni planning?!

* * *

xxx

_**T'Pol**_

There is the sound of a door opening, a voice she knows. The Counsellor! This tends to indicate they are not planning on making her disappear. The rhythmic swooshing of her blood is loud in her ears.

"Take that off!" the Counsellor orders.

The bag over her head is removed and she blinks in the sudden light. Between the tall guards surrounding her she catches glimpses of a large ornate door.

"The restraints!" the Counsellor orders again, "take them off!"

"But, Sire," the guard at the front protests, "this is never done-"

"The aliens' value system is not based in law like ours," the Counsellor replies, "we need to make an exception."

Given that she stands to benefit directly from the Counsellor's order, T'Pol opts not to defend the aliens' value system. The Counsellor turns around, waiting in front of the door, the squadron of guards in his back with her in the middle.

The door is large enough to let the entire detail through. It opens wide, and they file into a large hall filled with people she doesn't know. She catches sight of a blond mop, cranes her neck to see without being obvious. Trip! Trip is here.

Finally, she relaxes slightly.

* * *

xxx

_**Nossena - High Chamber** _

"Let the Pleader enter!" the Herald's voice booms, jolting everyone awake.

A side door has opened and a squad of tall guards is walking in. They're well into the hall before they realize T'Pol's in the middle.

Trip's heart clenches. He thought everything was agreed with the Federation but the Exalter Leader's speech makes him fear the worst. He looks at Archer but the Captain seems as nonplussed as he is. He turns to at Reed, trying to convey that they may have to fight and get T'Pol out. He hopes Malcolm got the message. He's relieved when he sees him take a half-step forward. Malcolm's ready.

The Herald's voice rises over the assembly again, "Who speaks for the Pleader?"

The Counsellor steps up. Trip didn't realize he was back, "I speak for the Pleader!"

The Herald's voice booms again, "The Pleader Alien T'Pol of Vulcan has bade clemency from the Exalted Leader for having saved the lives of twenty-nine Nossesseni." T'Pol would point out it was only twenty-seven but this is not the time to quibble. "We hold hat the good the Pleader did cannot erase the offense the Pleader committed against the Idol. But punishment for the offense has already been meted, and suffered. Therefore in acknowledgement and gratitude of the Pleader's help in rescuing twenty-nine Nossesseni, the Exalted Leader grants the Pleader's request for clemency. The Pleader's sentence is commuted to time served, without restitution." He stops, looks directly at T'Pol, "You are free to go."

There's a couple of heartbeats of silence as those present processes the news, and then the room erupts in cheers. Trip is whooping louder than everyone else. He rushes through the guards to reach T'Pol. Archer would frown at him for the breach of decorum if he weren't grinning like a fool. Even Reed is smiling.

Trip comes back, a hand firmly around T'Pol. He isn't going to let go of her any time soon.

Archer smiles, "Commander," he greats her with a wide grin.

She answers with a raised eyebrow. Trip can feel through the bond that she's close to being overcome. He doesn't know what happened to her but she is shaken. He frowns slightly, "What happened after you left?"

"I was brought to the same cell as last time," T'Pol answers. "I was expecting to be processed this morning but instead I was brought here." She looks at Archer, "There are some facts the Federation needs to be made aware of."

Archer shakes his head, "Now's not the time, Commander. Let's pick it up once we get you back on board, shall we?" They still have a banquet to get through and he doesn't want anything to jeopardize her safe return to Enterprise.

Trip is scowling. He knows when she's evading. He'll have to get it out from her later tonight, when they're alone. Find out what has spooked her so.

But right now The Counsellor is by their side, looking thrilled, "I believe this will be a most excellent banquet, don't you agree?" he asks Archer.

Archer chuckles in answer, "It's most certainly a cause for celebration." Then he stops, curious, "Did you know all along?"

The Counsellor shrugs humbly, "One never knows what the Exalted Leader will decide. His wisdom is great and Pleader actions are extremely rare," He pauses, "But I knew that Nossena joining the Federation is of great importance to him."

* * *

xxx

_**Enterprise - Ready Room - Twenty-Six Months Later**_

"Come in!" Archer calls.

He nods as T'Pol walks in, "Sit down, please." He walks around the desk, coming close to her, "Remember Nossena, what you told us? That they are using an unforgiving justice as a means of acquiring slave labor for the mines?"

T'Pol nods, "I do." Of course she remembers. Human capacity for forgetting will never cease to amaze her.

"I alerted the negotiating team, told us to look more closely into their laws and how they're applied." He pauses, "You were right, there's a whole system of quasi-slavery at work there."

T'Pol remains silent. Of course she was right. She does not know why Archer had any doubts.

He struggles to say what comes next, knowing it will not be well received, "The negotiating teams felt that this is the way Nossenean society functions, and they seem to do pretty well."

"They are unwilling to do anything..." She's figured it out. The words are crisp, the tone curt. There's no point in asking Vulcan's position, if they'd had one, the Federation would have been compelled to act. But they too need numbers to fight off the Romulan threat.

Archer sighs, "It's like the Vissians, an apparently great society, with a rotten secret. The negotiating teams did get a victory of sorts, less than you'd have liked, I'm sure. And very narrow at that. But I thought you'd want to know." He picks up a padd on his desk, extends it to her.

She scans the screen and reads: "Regulation AB-011-EFT - Sentences for lesser crimes shall be in a period not in excess of thirty-six months." It is not enough, and yet it is a lot. She hands the padd back to Archer, "Thank you, Captain."

Archer takes the padd with a shrug, lays it on his desk, "They did the right thing by you, in the end. Glad it's all over." He turns back to the door, "Let's go, we have a ship to run."

THE END

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_**Thanks everyone, for your reviews, for your reviews and comments, for reading.**_


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